Room 1B
by epicluna
Summary: Parent!lock and Superfamily. Hamish Holmes and Peter Parker are sent to boarding school by their parents. While Peter discovers his Spidey powers and Hamish deals with bullies, they must somehow defeat an old, relentless enemy.
1. Prologue

Prologue  


The definition of a bully, according to the 1999 edition of the Children's Illustrated Dictionary, is "someone who tries to frighten or hurt a weaker or smaller person".

It should be noted that this particular edition of the dictionary had resided on Harriet Watson's bookshelf for two years, had migrated to John Watson's bedside table for half a year, was lost in an attic for 20 years and then recovered again by John, who passed it down to his son, Hamish Holmes. The dictionary now has a place on the Holmes family bookshelf beside a battered globe. Hamish set it back on the shelf and walked away from the library, hands in his pockets, head hung low.

Dictionary definitions are often completely useless. For example, the same edition of Hamish's dictionary boasts definitions for 'hedgehog' and 'detective', but it doesn't teach you how to load a handgun, be a good husband or combat bullies – the latter of which Hamish was puzzling over at that very moment.

It was a good hour until dinner, so Hamish went to his room. Medium-sized, a good view of London, a soft bed and a large writing-desk. It was really all Hamish needed, but his fathers had insisted on filling it with childish rubbish. That rocking horse, for example, and that giant teddy bear they'd won at a carnival. Sentimental stuff that Hamish didn't need – but was too painful to throw away. Strange. Sixteen years old and still hanging onto Mr Huggles. How sad was that?

"Hamish!"

The lanky boy walked slowly downstairs. Whatever his Dad was calling him for, it wasn't good. It never was.

"What have I done this time?" Hamish sighed.

His Dad, John, and his Father, Sherlock, sat at the dinner table. Sherlock's arms were folded, a serious pinch on his brow, and John was tapping the table nervously with his left hand. His other hand was on a large folder, which his eyes kept flicking to.

"You haven't done anything, son." John sighed. "But-"

"This is Mycroft's fault."

"Sherlock!" John hissed.

"What? Oh. _Uncle_ Mycroft. And it's still his fault. Interfering bast-"

"Anyway!" John said loudly. Hamish giggled. "How do you like Dublin?"

"Oh, Ireland. What about it? Are we going on holiday?"

John's eyes flicked to Sherlock, who sighed and pushed the folder towards Hamish.

"Sorry," Sherlock murmured. "but you need an education."

Hamish pulled the paper from the folder, his face blanching white. "St Oliver's Boarding- no."

"Yes." John stood up and pulled his son into a hug. "Trust me, it'll be good for you."

Hamish pushed away from his Dad. "Why do I have to go?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "Your grades are dropping. You are an exceptionally smart young man – you take after the Holmes', we've always been clever – but your school work is shoddy at best. This school will help."

John piped up: "Also, you're being bullied. Don't deny it – we've both seen the bruises and the blood on your shirts. It doesn't take a consulting detective to work that out."

"But- Dad! Please! I'll be the new kid, I'll be bullied even more! Please don't-"

"Hamish, do not argue." Sherlock's mouth turned down into an unhappy grimace. "This really is for the best. You start in the first term, so you'll have two years there until you can escape – um, come home, sorry. You'll see us in the holidays and we'll call you on your mobile. I'll even text you to get you out of lessons." Sherlock smiled at his son, but Hamish's tearful frown didn't soften.

"I can't believe you!" Hamish choked. He swallowed a lump in his throat – it didn't go away. Everything turned red. He couldn't see anything past the red spots on his eyes, hear anything past the roar of discomfort in his ears, taste anything but the dryness of his mouth. He didn't even notice John was hugging him until he heard him whispering into his ear:

"You'll be fine, son. Who knows? You might make a new friend."


	2. Room 1B

Chapter 1 – Room 1B  


You know, it doesn't really inspire a lot of confidence when your parents suddenly announce: "Hey Peter! We're sending you to a boarding school in Ireland! Isn't that great?"

Okay, maybe they didn't say it in those words _exactly_, but that was the gist of it. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark – they'd only sent him here because they hated him. They didn't say it. They said it was for his protection, that the Avengers didn't need a man-sized spider or a sixteen year old 'time bomb'. Peter was sure that they hated him. Especially that Hawk guy. Peter smiled to himself, remembering the time when he'd tripped Clint up with his web shooters. And that time he'd hung him upside down from the rafters. And that time- yeah, you get it.

Peter stepped off the bus. He'd been in Ireland (why Ireland?) a week, and today was his first day at a British school. Fantastic.

The bustling crowd of students swarmed into the huge grey building. St Oliver's wasn't much to look at, just grey stone amongst rolling grey hills. The uniforms were pretty drab too – black blazer and trousers, grey jumpers and white shirts. Peter had never worn a uniform before. It felt itchy against his skin. Peter once again longed for his jacket and ripped jeans, and even his Converse shoes that felt much better than these awful black things.

America: 1. Ireland: 0.

The crowd swept Peter up and carried him towards the dorm rooms. Peter's suitcase and heavy rucksack banged against his leg as he was deposited outside Block A. The crowd moved on, and he was alone. Peter pulled a piece of paper from his pocket (try saying that when you're drunk) and scanned the corridor for his room.

"Room 1B." Peter muttered under his breath, walking slowly. Ah – here we go. He knocked on the door, and it swung open, revealing a lanky, black-haired boy. Peter smiled.

"Hello." Peter held out his hand for the boy to shake. "Peter Parker. This is 1B, right?"

"That's right." the boy ignored his hand, just beckoned Peter inside and closed the door. "I'm Hamish. Hamish Holmes."

"Another alliterative name!" Peter grinned. "And I thought Bruce Banner was bad."

"I'm sorry?" Hamish frowned.

"Never mind. So which is mine?"

Hamish pointed to the bed nearest the door, then walked over to his own bed, sitting down to watch Peter. Peter smiled in thanks, set down his case and bag, and started to survey the dorm. 'Roomy' was the first word that came to mind. White walls, dark beige carpet, a large bookshelf and a dirty window filtering weak sunlight into the room. It was actually quite posh for a boarding school.

"This is nice!" Peter smiled.

"This block is for the rich kids." Hamish sighed, as if he resented that fact. "Rooms 1A to 1F are specially reserved."

"Wow..." Peter was actually grateful to his dads for that. No – they hated him. This must be a trap. Hamish must be a serial killer or something. "Are you a serial killer?" the question was out before he could stop it.

"I wish" was not the answer he was expecting.

"So who are your parents? You're British... are you royalty?" Peter smirked.

"That's a stereotype and you know it." Hamish laughed. "You're American – did Obama send you?"

"Touché." Peter grinned. "Okay. Who are you?"

"I'm Hamish Holmes. My uncle is one of the most powerful men in Britain, and he's a Holmes, so he's rich. But don't tell anyone." Hamish smiled. "What about you?"

"My dad is an inventor. Plus he's-" Peter glanced at Hamish for a moment. Could he trust this guy? What if he went and blabbed to the whole school? _Hey! My room-mate's dad is Iron Man! _

"I can keep a secret, you know." Hamish smirked. "From your backpack I can see that you love photography, and have a pretty expensive camera – I'm more familiar with tobacco ash and blood types than camera models, so I can't identify what type of camera, but I know it's expensive because you take a lot of care of it. I also know that you have a friend called Gwen – girlfriend? Yes, girlfriend. She gave you a present before you left America. An engraved pen! How thoughtful."

Peter gaped at the strange boy. "How the Hell-"

"Tell me yours, I'll tell you mine." Hamish grinned.

"Tony Stark, Iron Man. Steve Rogers, Captain America."

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Captain John Watson, ex-army doctor."

The boys stared at each other for a moment.

"You're weird."

Then they burst out laughing.


	3. Spandexman

**Note:** hello lovely readers! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Just a few things that you might consider: I imagine Peter as the Andrew Garfield Spidey, and Hamish as a bigger Asa Butterfield. Because fields are awesome. So if you're imagining the characters, that's how I wrote them, but you can think of them however you want, no limits. This story is set in the 2012 adaptation of Sherlock BBC, and obviously the 2012 Avengers/Spiderman movies. I hope you enjoy the story! Please leave a review – they mean a lot, and motivate me to write more. Laters!

Chapter 2 – Spandexman

Peter knew he wasn't the most normal kid in school. Nerdy, lanky, (sometimes) bespectacled and an avid lover of photography; plus he was constantly in the nurses' office for some kind of injury or illness. Not to mention that he was the freaking Spiderman. It made sense that he was sometimes alone. He liked alone. It gave him time to sneak out and test his spider powers, or go to the library and study, or go to his room and catch up with lost sleep.

But then he looked over at Hamish – and the black-haired boy was an enigma. Sometimes popular, sometimes not. Sometimes friendly, sometimes not. Peter stuck to one persona – or two, depending on the attire – whereas Hamish liked to fluctuate between several. He was an actor, never revealing his true self, always hiding. Maybe he liked it like that. Maybe Hamish just wasn't used to having friends or room-mates or proper teachers.

Maybe that made living easier.

It was that time of day again, when the students were in bed and the teachers didn't care. Darkness was seeping quickly through the school, the moon hidden behind clouds. The wind rustled the leaves. It was quiet and still, and perfect for flying. Flashes of red and blue swung from the tree canopies, leaving long white web strands in their wake. Spiderman hummed the Batman theme song as he swung through the trees, landing softly on the mossy ground with a dramatic pose.

"And here he is, the Amazing Spiderman!" he grinned through his mask. Ah, this felt good! To fly through an old forest, hear the rush of the leaves and the flap of bird wings, and feel his own breath heating his face on the mask. He loved this – the thrill, the danger. He didn't need to be protected. Being here in Ireland was useless. Why should he be here when he could be in America, saving lives with his dads and their super-friends (in every sense of the word 'super')? This grey, gloomy place didn't need saving. It sucks. Spiderman – he wasn't Peter when he had the suit on – shot a line of web up to a tall tree and wrapped it around himself, letting his body loosen and swing freely. He felt like a piñata.

"Hello?"

Spiderman instantly drew the web back, elevating himself into the tree canopy and letting the web fall from his body. "Who's there?" he called.

A figure stepped towards the tree, his torso and head obscured by the shadows. "Who are you, first?"

The superhero was sorely tempted to say "just your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman" and run away into the distance, but he smiled instead and jumped down from his hiding place. He saw the figure take a step back.

"You don't need to be scared. I might be a spider, but I don't bite."

"I'm not scared!" the figure laughed. "Why would I be afraid of a guy wearing a leotard?"

"It's not a leotard!" Spiderman gasped. "It's a fitted fight suit!"

"Whatever you say, Spandexman."

"Who are you?" Spiderman folded his arms, a scowl on his hidden face.

"Can't say. That would be the height of idiocy."

Spiderman sighed. "Fine." he lurched forward, dragging the figure from the shadows. The jaw-drop was visible through his mask. "Hamish?"

"How do you know my name?" Hamish snapped, struggling free of the boy's grip.

The superhero hesitated. "I know a lot about you."

"Stalker!"

"I'm not a stalker, I'm your- uh..." _don't say it. Please don't say it. _"Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman!" _nice going, genius. _

"Spiderman? Please." the black-haired boy grinned. He glanced over the superhero's lanky form. "Not bulky enough to be a man. Yet you're in these woods... So you go to St Oliver's?" Hamish was in full deducing-mode now. "Interesting. Judging by your height, you're tall for your age. Year 12, I'm assuming. You carry a backpack on your right shoulder."

"How-"

"You slope towards the left, obviously trying to compensate for a large backpack or bag." Hamish smiled quickly before continuing: "Brown hair on your shoulder... that narrows you down a bit, but not much... Give me a second. My Father's better at this than I am." Hamish circled Spiderman, glancing over his suit. The superhero gulped. This kid was clever; he'd seen him in action, deducing other students and teachers. Sooner or later –

"Peter?" Hamish gasped.

Fuck.

"Hello Hamish."

"I knew it!" Hamish's eyes glittered. "The way you sneak out at night, the mysterious injuries, the books on spiders – it all adds up! Stupid, stupid!" Hamish muttered to himself.

Spiderman grimaced. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because... I dunno, you seem trustworthy, but you might..."

"Peter." Hamish grinned. "Please give me some credit. I don't care if you like swinging through trees in a spandex leotard. All I'm asking is that you help me." his eyes dimmed a bit, smile drooping.

"Help you?"

Hamish nodded. "Do you know anything about bullies, Peter?"

Spiderman thought back to his time in America, and quickly remembered at least ten alley fights, three broken limbs and one shattered basketball hoop. "I used to be bullied all the time. Jackasses."

"Well, they're the reason I'm here." Hamish sucked in a breath between his teeth. "It's happening again." he said this mainly to himself, not even noticing Spiderman staring at him until he looked up. "Will you help me?"

Spiderman hesitated. "I don't know."

"Peter, please!" Hamish snapped. "You're a spider thing! You have web thingies! You were even bullied yourself!"

Spiderman looked down. Hamish was right, of course. He grinned. "How can I help?"

Hamish smiled slyly. "I think I have a few ideas."


	4. Parenting 101

**Note:** hello again! Thanks for sticking with me. A little thing about le superheroes – if they're in costume, I call them their superhero names. If they're being normal, I call them their real identity names. If that makes sense. Reviews mean a lot, so please send me your thoughts!

Also, a bit of shameless self-promotion... my Tumblr is Sherlock/Doctor Who/Avengers central, so if you swing that way, look me up:

Chapter 4 – Parenting 101

It was halfway through a battle with the Zoogonian people from planet Zog that Captain America realised that it had been a very bad idea to send his son to boarding school.

"Stark!" he called through the intercom.

His husband's voice crackled through the JARVIS system: "One sec, just-" Iron Man struck a blow to one of the aliens' heads, knocking the thing backwards. "What's up?"

"Do you think it was a good idea to send Peter to Ireland?" Captain America punched a Zoogonian in the stomach and shot it through the heart, his face turning into a worried frown.

"You want to talk about this NOW?!" Iron Man groaned. Two Zoogonians pounced on him, but Hulk grabbed them and knocked their heads together, flinging them away. He snorted a smile at Iron Man and leapt away to help Thor. Iron Man turned to the Captain. "We've got two minutes."

"I'm worried about him." the Captain sighed. "I mean, he's never been to Britain before, and he might be bullied again. What if someone finds out he's... special?"

"That's one word for it." Iron Man gunned down three Zoogonians over his shoulder using his rocket launchers. He placed a gentle armoured hand on the Captain's shoulder. "He'll be fine. I think he can handle a few Irish people. Besides, he's smart like me." Iron Man grinned.

Captain America laughed. "I guess. We'll call him tonight. Promise?"

"Promise."

They didn't notice the Zoogonian creeping up behind them with a huge alien gun, the being powering it up, ready to shoot – before Black Widow knocked it out of the alien's hands, roundhouse kicking the Zoogonian into Hulk's waiting arms.

Widow glared at the two men. "Next time, keep the domestics at home."

xxx

John had just sat down with his morning cup of tea when he saw the picture on the wall. Hamish, Sherlock and Mycroft had been forced into a family photo with Hamish's grandparents – only Grandmother Holmes was smiling properly; Hamish and Grandfather looked slightly worried; Mycroft was snidely smirking; Sherlock was simply scowling. John chuckled. Sherlock entered the kitchen, noticing John's grin and smiling back.

"Morning." Sherlock quickly checked on his bacteria experiment then sat down at the table, bringing his legs up to his chin.

"Morning. Hey, how do you think Hamish is getting on at school? He must have made a friend by now." John looked hopeful.

Sherlock thought back to the 56 texts he'd sent his son yesterday, and the security camera in Hamish's dorm room that had a direct link to his phone. "Mm." he hid his smile.

"I'll call him at lunchtime." John took a sip of tea.

"No need. I'll text him."

"It's 9 o'clock... He'll be in a lesson now!"

"So?"

John sighed. "Go on then."

Sherlock nodded and took his phone from his pocket, quickly tapping out: _Which lesson are you in?-Father_

_Biology. Boring. -H_

_Can you text? -F_

_Yes. -H_

_Good. Who's your room-mate? There's no sound on the cameras. -F_

_Peter. -H_

_Details, please. -F_

_Peter Parker. American, 16, smart. Likes photography and burgers. -H_

_Friend or foe? -F_

There was a good five minute gap between texts, eventually culminating in:

_Friend. Definitely. -H_

Sherlock grinned at John. "You were right. He's more popular than we thought."he stood up, entering a phone number.

"Who are you calling?" John frowned.

Sherlock held a finger to his lips, then smiled falsely at the phone. "Brother dear! I need a favour. Get me as much information as you can on Hamish's room-mate. His name is Peter Parker. Thank you."


	5. Stories

**Note: **hello again! Thank you to my friends Polly and Jordan for putting up with me while I moaned about characters and plot-lines. Thank you to my amazing reviewer honestly-what and the brilliant wolfgirl9710. Also thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed this story – I'll try and keep you updated as often as I can. I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter 5 – Stories

St Oliver's Boarding School. It was grey and boring, with massive fields of nothing surrounding it, broken up by the huge forest about two fields behind. A boys-only school and halfway to a prison, it was a hive of activity – sports were always being played on the fields; the classrooms and libraries full of people avoiding homework and revision like the plague. Peter and Hamish tended to stick to their own room or go to the roof of the main building. This is where they were now, Peter performing acrobatics on the ledge and Hamish writing in a small notebook.

"You shouldn't walk so close to the edge." Hamish called without looking up.

Peter ignored him, trying to balance himself on one finger. He managed it and back-flipped onto the roof with a grin. "Ta-da!"

"Yes, amazing." Hamish rolled his eyes. "Now, I think I've formulated a plan. Who are your bullies?"

"Um... James Collins. Sometimes it's Stuart, Stuart Cordell. Plus Steve Mason, if he can be bothered. You?"

"Same here, but Jason Cassidy seems to have it in for me." Hamish paused. "Then again, so does the whole school."

"Not me." Peter grinned, and Hamish smiled gratefully back.

"We need to get them into the library. Then we strike."

"How do we get them there? They never use the library."

"We'll have to lure them in." Hamish grinned. "How fast can you run?"

* * *

Hamish had an amazing intellect. Cleverness just happened to him, and he followed in the footsteps of his Father. Hamish wanted to be a detective just like him.

The bullies didn't like this.

Oh, Hamish could stand the insults, the jeers, the silence when he walked into rooms. Being a Holmes had taught him that he would always be different. Being a Watson taught him that it was okay to be different. But while his cleverness and indifference came in handy for the psychological warfare his classmates threw at him, he was no match for the physical implications.

Pushed into the wall, Hamish tore at the bully's arms, his sharp nails leaving long white lines on the skin but not breaking it. The bully sneered, shoving Hamish roughly onto the ground. Hamish's head bounced on the floor, and he could feel the hot trail of blood just beginning to roll down his neck. His vision blurred.

"Stop-" he choked.

"Aren't you gonna fight back?" the bully growled.

He released Hamish and stood up, landing a hard kick to his ribcage. Hamish curled into a ball, the breath knocked out of him, but he gasped for air like a fish out of water.

"Pathetic!" Hamish wheezed. "Oh, and did you know your girlfriend is sleeping with Morrison?"

The bully growled loudly and landed another kick to Hamish's nose, breaking it to the left. Hamish let out a cry and clutched his face, bright red blood oozing through his fingers. He stared up at the bully, who just sneered, leant down and took Hamish's hair into his hand, pulling the smaller boy upright.

"You're a retarded fucker." he growled.

"And you have no imagination." Hamish winced as the bully clenched his fist, tearing a bit of Hamish's hair out as he did so.

"Stay the fuck away from me."

The bully threw Hamish down, his head lolling on the floor, and Hamish watched as the tall boy walked away, brushing his jumper down as he went. Hamish lay on the floor for a minute more, getting his breath back.

How was he going to hide a broken nose from the world's greatest detective?

* * *

When his parents died, Peter was just a baby. He'd been adopted by Steve and Tony on Nick Fury's command, and no child could have had a more loving upbringing. But of course this made him subject to a lot of prejudice. One night, Peter had come home crying, asking Steve and Tony why men couldn't love each other. They had sat him down and explained that love doesn't have a gender. It doesn't matter if you're a girl who loves a girl, a boy who loves a boy, or a person who loves both. They'd also said that whoever tells him different is lying, and he should never ever listen to them. Peter took those words to heart, and no-one ever dared to bully him over his parents.

At least, not physically.

_The mind is a delicate thing._

Peter logged onto his Facebook account. Gwen had sent him a chat message about photography club – Peter had the biggest grin on his face as he read it – and his dads had uploaded pictures from their holiday in the Bahamas. Peter chuckled. Tony had obviously insisted on bringing the Iron Man suit, and someone (probably Bruce) had taken a picture of Steve throwing a beachball at Tony, who was in the air posing for the camera. Peter glanced at his inbox – 6 new messages. He smiled as he hovered his cursor over the icon and clicked.

_guys i'm havin a party 2nite – guess who isn't invited LOL_

_fucking geek no-one likes you you fucking retard_

_how do you have friends? OMG loser LOL_

_saw Iron Faggot and Captain Asshole today – gay bastards, right Peter?_

_Still single, fag? Not surprised. How many guys have you banged?_

Then just one, simple sentence:

_I hate you._

Peter's hands trembled as he slowly deleted the messages. He stood up, his legs feeling like jelly, and took off his shirt and jeans, running his hands over the surface of his Spiderman costume. His breath shuddered as he pulled on his mask.

Peter Parker wasn't weak. But sometimes it was easier to be Spiderman.

* * *

No-one wants to show that they are being bullied. Be it a physical or a psychological battle you are fighting, appearing to be strong and thick-skinned is always tempting. You build walls around you, cut everyone out, and true friendships suffer because of this. Shutting yourself inside a concrete shell seems like the best way to avoid confrontation.

It is never the solution.

Hamish and Peter were determined to find their own way out.


	6. Show Time

**Note:** helloooooo! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed and read and liked this story. This chapter is much less boring, I promise. Enjoy!

Chapter 6 – Show Time

"Pass us a fag, mate."

The five boys stood behind the wall of the school, oblivious to how cliché their conversation was. James, Stuart, Steve and Jason were passing around a cigarette, each taking a drag then passing it on with a cough or a wheeze.

"Harry, you in?" Jason offered the cigarette to his friend, but the boy didn't partake. Harry Lawrence was the tallest, strongest and most cunning of the five boys (although it didn't take much to be the smartest in a group of pea-brained idiots). He was stood to the side of his friends, just watching the field in front of them. A small figure was running towards the five bullies, arms flailing, backpack swinging. Harry smirked.

"Look." he pointed at the boy. His friends turned round and instantly started laughing. Jason dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it violently. The small figure stopped.

"Hamish Holmes!" James smirked. "Why are you here?"

Hamish gulped. He straightened up, puffed out his chest and yelled: "I found gay porn in your bedroom!"

Stuart turned bright red and looked around at his friends, who were just glaring at Hamish, confused. Jason's eyes flicked to Steve, who avoided his gaze. Harry frowned at Hamish.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Oh, I'd ask Stuart if I were you." Hamish grinned.

The friends all turned to Stuart, who let out a cry and lunged for Hamish. Hamish stepped aside quickly and ran into the school, the five bullies lumbering after him like a pack of bears. The six boys crashed through the school, up and down stairs, past classrooms full of students still in the middle of lessons. Hamish took detours and cut corners – he and Peter had mapped out the school, thankfully – but the bullies pursued him relentlessly, their cries and jeers following him wherever he went. Hamish pushed through the library doors, grateful to see it empty, and slid under the front counter, hugging his bag to his chest. The five boys entered the library a split-second afterwards, Harry in the lead, Stuart still bright red.

"You can't hide from us! We know your secrets, Holmes." Harry slowly walked along the centre of the library. His friends split up, checking under tables and between the shelves. Hamish squeezed his eyes shut. Any second now...

"HEY!"

The boys turned round to see a man dressed in red and blue spandex hanging upside down from the ceiling. The man shook his head. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

Steve let out a yell and ran towards the stranger – the man just laughed and flicked his wrist, a line of white web spraying out and hitting Steve in the face. The boy fell down, tugging at the gag, and Jason ran forwards to pull off the webbing. The spandex man dropped off the ceiling, dusting off his hands.

"Who are you?" demanded Jason.

The man crossed his arms, an invisible smile on his masked face. "I'm Spiderman."

The bullies glanced at each other, then burst out laughing.

"What?" Spiderman frowned. "Does this suit make my butt look big or something?"

"You look like a fucking retard!" Stuart chuckled.

There was a pause. The bullies stopped laughing.

"Hey, where's Stuart?" Harry frowned. There was a muffled cry from above – the bullies looked up, and Stuart was pinned to the ceiling, his mouth covered with webbing, his hands and ankles shackled with the same substance. The four remaining boys looked forward, and Spiderman was stood in front of them, examining his nails through his gloves.

"Anyone else?" Spiderman smiled. "My Spidey senses are tingling!"

"Motherfucker!" Jason gasped.

"What does Oedipus have to do with this?" Spiderman frowned.

Jason glanced at Harry, who just nodded gravely. Jason sprang forwards, his fists pulled back, and swung a punch at Spidey, who dodged it expertly. He caught Jason's fist in his hand and shoved the boy back so that he fell onto the floor. Spiderman whipped round and kicked a surprised James in the face. They all heard something crack. Spiderman winced.

"That's gonna leave a mark."

Steve tried to kick Spidey's legs from underneath him, but the man jumped onto the nearest table and ran across it, leaping onto the ceiling and scuttling around – like a spider, ironically. He shot a few lines of web at the bullies, wrapping their arms onto their chests. They prised the web off and advanced on the man, but Spidey was instantly wrapping them up again, and soon Steve, Jason and James were cocoons of white web, wriggling on the floor. Spidey quickly strung them up next to Stuart, and stepped back to admire his work.

"Now you four can just stay-"

A loud yell from behind Spiderman interrupted his speech – Harry was still free. He held a chair above his head and brought it down on Spiderman's back, making the man fall forwards onto his stomach. Spidey didn't have time to react before Harry was punching him, his face taking most of the beating. He tasted blood, then his vision swam, Harry blurring in and out of focus.

"STOP!"

Harry turned to see Hamish holding a large hard-back book aloft, his face red with rage.

"What the fuck is this, Holmes?!" Harry growled. Spidey was perfectly still underneath Harry's hulking frame. Hamish narrowed his eyes.

"Payback, you bastard." Hamish hauled the book at Harry's head, knocking the larger boy to the floor. Hamish helped Spiderman up, taking his wrist and pressing the web shooter button to pin Harry to the floor with the web. Spidey lolled against Hamish's neck.

"Hamish..." he coughed. "Did we do it?"

Hamish glanced at the ceiling, where the four boys were still wriggling, then at Harry, who was yelling profanities at the top of his lungs. Hamish grinned.

"We did it."

The doors to the library swung open, and the librarian screeched at the sight of the seven boys. "What on Earth is this?!"

"Oh, hi Mary." Hamish stood up, pulling Spidey under his arm. "Listen, thanks for letting us use the library. I think we'll do really well in our exams now. You're the best." he smiled.

Mary frowned at the limp man. "Who's that?"

"Don't you dare say it." Spidey glared at his friend.

Hamish grinned. "Just your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman."

"Moron."


	7. Meet the Parents

**Note: **thank you so so much to everyone who reads this story – it means a lot to me, so thank you. In answer to TheLlamaWriter and AvisQuest9513, on the subject of a Hamish/Peter romance – spoilers, sweeties! I can't say! But something might happen. Might. /runs off into the distance/

There was also a problem with an earlier chapter – my Tumblr link didn't come up. It's **epicluna** for anyone who cares.

Chapter 7 – Meet the Parents

Spidey and Hamish stumbled back to their dorm, laughing their heads off. As soon as the door was open, Spidey flopped down onto his bed and whipped his mask off, still laughing and clutching his sides. Hamish stood in the middle of the room, beaming at the boy.

"Thanks, Peter." he grinned.

"No problem. But why am I always the 'friendly neighbourhood Spiderman'? Can't I be the 'amazing Spiderman' or something? 'Friendly' sounds too cute. Like Casper the Friendly Ghost." Peter rested his back on the wall against his bed, playing with his mask. He looked back up at Hamish. "But we did it, right Hamish?"

"That's right. They got what they deserved." Hamish smiled.

"We're going to be in a lot of trouble for this."

"So?" Hamish sat on his own bed, swinging his legs.

There was a knock on the door, and Hamish and Peter glanced at each other. Peter rushed over to the wardrobe, frantically changing into his normal clothes. The door knocked again.

"Just a sec!" Hamish called.

"Mr Holmes, please open this door." the school's secretary sounded bored and muffled through the door.

Peter, now in his uniform, stepped to Hamish's side and nodded. The door opened, revealing a very bored secretary.

"Mr Christie wants to see you."

* * *

"Mr Stark, there is a caller on Line 1."

"Thanks, JARVIS. Patch it through."

Tony lay back in his chair. JARVIS put up a little picture of St Oliver's headmaster onto the screen, and someone coughed on the other end of the line. Tony frowned. This couldn't be good.

"Hello. Am I speaking to Mr Tony Stark?" a gravelly voice boomed over the speakers. Tony pursed his lips.

"That's me. Who is this?"

"My name is Charles Christie, headmaster of St Oliver's boarding school. I trust that you are the guardian of Mr Peter Parker?"

_Guardian. _Tony liked that word. "Yes, I am. Why are you calling?"

"We have a... situation."

Tony frowned, tapping his fingers on his heart-piece. "A situation? Where's Peter? Is he safe?"

"Mr Parker is with me." the voice growled. "He is in a lot of trouble, and I wish to speak with both you and Peter's other guardian... Mr Rogers, was it?"

"It's Stark-Rogers." Tony glared at the picture of Mr Christie.

"My apologies. If it is possible-"

"We'll be there right away. Thanks." Tony disconnected the call and sprang up, dialling Fury's mobile on his private line. "Director? It's Stark. I need Capsicle to come home. Immediately." he glanced at a small picture of Peter on the wall and sighed. "Peter needs us."

* * *

"Look, Mr Christie, I'm sure that Hamish didn't mean to hurt the boys. They were the ones who started the whole thing! … I know that because Hamish told me that they were bullying him. … No, I wasn't there at the time. … Don't tell me to- … Fine. I'll be on the next flight over. Goodbye. Thanks." John slammed the phone down on the table, cursing loudly.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock mumbled from the sofa.

"The headmaster of Hamish's school. Hamish is in trouble – we need to go." John hurried upstairs to pack. "Call your brother!"

Sherlock groaned. "Why?"

"We need plane tickets, and I don't have the money! Plus he can dig up some dirt on these bullies." John disappeared into the bedroom.

Sherlock buried his face in the sofa cushions. Great, another reason for Mycroft to be smug. Thanks a lot, Hamish.

* * *

Hamish and Peter sat outside Mr Christie's office. Despite their predicament, they were relaxed and smiling as Mr Christie paced inside the room. The headmaster of St Oliver's was a burly, short man, tanned from recent holidays and limping from an old sports injury. Grey-haired and reaching his sixties, he was set for a long retirement in the Bahamas. Until then, he had to put up with these meddling kids. He'd called both of the boys' guardians almost an hour ago, and he was one step away from punching something.

Outside, the door to the hallway opened with a bang, and a tall, dark man stepped through, looking around quickly.

"Father!" Hamish grinned. The man smiled.

"Hamish." he nodded at the boy, then pulled him into a swift hug. He stepped back and noticed Peter staring at him. "Who is this?"

"This is Peter, my friend." Hamish smiled.

The man raised an eyebrow. "So this is the one... good for you. American... smart, I assume, from Hamish's texts."

"Father!" Hamish growled, nudging him in the ribs. Sherlock just smirked.

"Mr Holmes?" Peter stood up and held out a hand for him to shake. "Peter Parker. Pleasure to meet you. Hamish talks about you all the time!"

Sherlock ignored the hand. A short blond appeared behind him, glowering at his husband.

"Always running off. You never-" he spotted Hamish and stopped talking, taking Hamish's head into his hands and checked him over like the doctor he was. "Are you hurt? We were so worried!"

"I'm fine, Dad. Um, this is Peter." Hamish glanced at his friend.

John turned round and grinned. "The famous Mr Parker! Good to meet you, son." he shook Peter's hand. Peter liked this man.

The office door opened, and Mr Christie stepped out, red in the face. Peter and Hamish glanced at each other with smug grins.

"Are you Hamish's guardians?" Mr Christie rasped in his gravelly voice.

"Mr Christie." Sherlock towered above the small man, purposefully putting on his darkest voice. "Why have you brought us here?"

The red-faced man flushed even more. "We can discuss the matter in my office. Please-"

The door to the hallway burst open with a lot more gusto than before. A lean, middle-height man strode down the corridor, dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans. He carried a large red and silver suitcase under his arm, and a large blue circle of light protruded from his jacket.

"Tony Stark, nice to meet ya. This your office? Nice place, could do with a clean-up." he spotted Peter and dropped the suitcase to crush the boy in a hug. He released him with a cheeky grin. "You are in big trouble, young man."

"Good to see you too, Dad." Peter grinned.

Tony looked round at the door. "Cap' and Coulson are just parking the airpla- uh..." he noticed Hamish and his parents. "...the car."

Peter frowned. "You drove here from New York, and you brought Uncle Phil?"

"Not exactly _drove_." Tony glanced at the suitcase, then back at Peter. "Plus, Phil kind of stowed away in the flight deck. It doesn't matter." he wheeled round to face Mr Christie, who was getting more agitated by the second. "Why did you call us all the way from America for this?"

"I agree, it is preposterous. I could have solved three cases by now. Plus the bacteria in the kitchen-" Sherlock was interuppted with a glare from John, but Tony nodded at him gratefully.

"I don't know what that means, but he's on my side." Tony glared at Mr Christie. "These boys have done nothing wrong."

Mr Christie fought to keep his voice under control. "Really? Nothing? Step into my office then, Mr Stark, and we will see what your concept of _nothing_ is."

Christie turned on his heel and stomped back into his office. Tony turned to Peter and Hamish with a wink.

"Now we've done it."


	8. Close Call

**Note: **Agent Phil Coulson is **not **dead. PHEELS. /ahem/  
I wrote this chapter almost instantly after I uploaded the last one because I really really love this story. I have three things to say: firstly, thank you so so much to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It means so much to me that you're enjoying it, so thank you! Secondly: I have been bullied myself, and I've taken a lot of the previous chapters from my own experiences. If I had Hamish's intellect or Peter's powers, I probably could have saved myself and others a lot of heartbreak. I wrote this story to help people who are suffering similar circumstances – if you are being bullied, tell someone, don't hide it. There are people who care, even if you don't think there are. Thirdly: my inspirations are Neil Gaiman, Russell T Davies and Agatha Christie, after whom I named the headmaster.  
That's all I have to say, so I'll shut up and let you read. Enjoy!

Chapter 8 – Close Call

Agent Coulson felt like the odd one out in the room. Stark and the tall Holmes had been glaring at Mr Christie in silence for about ten minutes now, Christie trying to set up a DVD player; Peter and the little Holmes had been sitting in their chairs and texting to each other; Rogers and the blond Holmes had been swapping army stories quietly in the background, and Coulson had just been standing in the corner, waiting for the meeting to be over. It hadn't even started yet.

The DVD player eventually worked (mostly due to Mr Christie handing it over to Tony), and Christie sat in his chair, glaring at everyone in the room. Something about his expression made Coulson instinctively reach for his gun. He glowered at the headmaster.

"It is good of you all to have come here."

"Yeah, yeah." Steve frowned. "Get to the point, son."

Tony, Peter and Coulson paused for a second to revel in the fact that Steve was actually older than everyone in the room. Tony felt a bit... under-age. The Holmes' frowned at them, not understanding, and everyone sprang back to life when Mr Christie cleared his throat.

"Mr Holmes and Mr Parker were the instigators in an incident involving five other boys, who shall remain nameless."

"Steve Mason, James Collins, Stuart Cordell, Harry Lawrence and Jason Cassidy." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"How-"

"I have connections." Sherlock resented the fact that Mycroft had to help him out, but at least he'd bested Mr Christie. John smiled proudly.

Mr Christie babbled: "Ahem, yes, those boys. They're now in hospital, thanks to your sons."

"What actually happened?" John frowned.

"We have CCTV footage of the incident."

Mr Christie pressed play on the TV remote, and the screen showed a grainy video feed of Hamish running into the library, the five bullies walking in after him. John and Steve watched in horror; Tony and Sherlock just squeezed their sons' shoulders as they watched Spidey string up the bullies on the ceiling. Hamish glanced at Peter, then texted him:

_We should have disabled the cameras. -H_

_Oops. -P_

Peter smiled at Hamish and took his friend's hand. Hamish nodded back, appreciating the gesture. They sat in silence.

"You don't know that's Peter!" Tony frowned. "That's just some kid in a costume!"

Mr Christie smiled smugly and clicked another button on the remote, this time showing a video of Peter walking out of the school's back door, pulling on his Spidey mask. Tony glared at Peter, who gulped. His dads knew about his powers, it was no secret to them or the other Avengers, but Tony's glare made Peter's insides squirm. He mouthed the word 'sorry' at the older man, and Tony just nodded, pulling out his transparent computer-phone.

"That is your son, Mr Stark. We have video evidence." Mr Christie stood up and started to remove the DVD from the machine. "This is a very serious issue. The five boys sustained mental and physical injuries-"

"That's nothing compared to what they put Hamish through!" Sherlock snarled.

"Peter too!" Steve growled.

"Sirs, calm down." Mr Christie seemed to be loving this. "We can-"

"_Spiderman, Spiderman! Does whatever a Spider can! Spins a web, any size! Catches thieves, just like flies! Look out! Here comes the Spiderman!" _

Everyone turned to Peter, who flushed bright red and answered his ringing phone.

"Hello?" he frowned.

Mr Christie spluttered: "Mr Parker, if you think that call is more important than this, then-"

Peter silenced the headmaster with a hand. Coulson grinned, noticing what Tony was doing. Stark put a finger to his lips and continued typing on his computer-phone. Sherlock looked mildly impressed – he wondered if Mycroft had one of them. He probably did. Peter frowned when he received no reply on the call, and snapped his phone shut, shrugging at Hamish and retaking his friend's hand.

"Wrong number, I guess." he sighed.

"Do you think this is funny?!" Mr Christie bellowed.

"No, but that is." Tony nodded to the TV screen.

Everyone turned to look at it – the video had changed to one of Mr Christie and the English teacher Mrs Davies snogging in the school hallway. Peter laughed out loud, and John had to slap a hand to his face to stop himself from laughing too. Mr Christie turned bright red and slapped the TV, trying to turn it off.

"What have you done?!" he cried.

Tony winked at Sherlock, who smiled quickly back. Peter grinned and squeezed Hamish's hand. Hamish beamed at his friend.

"I think that video solves all our problems." Tony smirked. "If you don't want that to get out, I'd release Hamish and Peter right now."

Mr Christie opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "Two months in detention. You may go." he waved his hand at the American, and Tony grabbed his son and hauled him out of the room. Steve wandered over to Coulson, who was barely containing his laughter, and steered the Agent to the exit, followed by John and Hamish. Sherlock stayed behind.

"Just to confirm, how serious were the bullies' injuries?"

Mr Christie glared menacingly at the tall man. "I can't-"

"I'll find out another way if you don't tell me. Just save me the trouble." Sherlock smiled.

Mr Christie sighed. "The physical injures were rather serious, but nothing the hospital can't fix. The psychological scars... that might take weeks, months."

Sherlock grinned. "Thank you. That's all I needed to hear."

He walked out of the office and slammed the door behind him, pulling Hamish into a hug.

"I'm proud of you, Hamish." Sherlock smiled.

"He put a boy in the hospital!" John frowned.

"Exactly." Sherlock beamed.


	9. The God in Goodbye

**Note:** AvisQuest9513, you read my mind! Let's introduce him, shall we? (Also, what's the Hamish/Peter ship name? SpideyHolmes? Harker?)

Chapter 9 – The God in Goodbye

He stretched his arms, the shackles on his wrists rubbing against his reddened skin. The metal mouth-guard restricted his breathing, but they refused to take it off him. They'd even stripped him of his green and gold robes, forcing him to wear a strange orange suit. He sat in silent humiliation. He didn't deserve this! He was a villain, a trickster, a God.

He was Loki.

The truck jolted, then swerved to a stop. The six armed guards that were sat around Loki looked at each other in confusion; Guard 4 sidled closer to the God, hovering his hand above the shackles, ready to pull him back if he tried to escape. Loki rolled his eyes. Humans.

"What's going on?" Guard 1 tapped on the driver's window.

The driver turned round to reply, but then a bullet smashed through the wind-shield and hit him in the back of the head – his blood splattered across the window, and he slumped to the floor. Guard 1 leapt back, scrambling for his radio, the other men readying their weapons.

"This is Fox 2, come in Fox 1!"

There was silence, apart from the crackling of the radio. The guards glanced at Loki, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Guard 1 continued stuttering into the radio:

"This is Fox 2, come in Fox 1! Fox 1, are you receiving me?"

The back doors to the truck flew open, and a strong gust of wind chilled the guards to their cores. They trained their guns on the open doors – no-one there. They didn't relax. Guard 4 still had his hand over Loki's shackles, but Loki just sat there, mildly amused. Another bullet fired into Guard 1's head, and a rapid succession of bullets killed off each guard one by one. They shot at the source in a futile attempt to survive – but soon they were on the floor, surrounded by their own blood. Guard 4's hand dropped from Loki's shackles, and Loki stood up, peering into the darkness.

"Loki Laufeyson?"

Loki nodded. A tall figure swept out of the darkness, a large rifle in his hands, chains of ammunition wrapped around his chest. He was blond, with large muscles and dirty clothes from where he had been lying in the sand.

"Do you know where you are?" the man asked.

Loki shook his head. The man nodded, stepped inside the truck and tugged a set of keys off one of the guards' belts, then undid Loki's mouth-guard. Loki stretched his jaw, flicking out his tongue to moisten his lips. He grinned.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I can't undo your cuffs until we get back to base." the man leapt back out of the truck and jogged to the driver's door. Loki jumped out too, and the two of them drove away in the truck, the driver's body lying in their wake.

"Who are you?" Loki asked.

"That's classified."

"Where are you from?"

"You wouldn't know it. Little island on Earth, that's all."

"Who do you work for?"

The man glanced at Loki. "You'll see soon enough."

* * *

"Remember me, okay?" Hamish frowned.

"How could I forget you?" Peter grinned.

It was the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, and Hamish and Peter were packing up their stuff to go home. Hamish had borrowed a few of Peter's comic books; Peter had borrowed Hamish's homework notes. Peter wasn't stupid, but his handwriting was atrocious. Hamish had insisted. They walked slowly to the front gates, the other students filing out around them. The cold Winter air bit their cheeks, and they huddled under their jackets for warmth. It didn't look like Winter, but it certainly felt like it. A large black car was waiting outside, and Mycroft's assistant Anthea was stood by the door, texting as usual. Hamish sighed.

"It's only for two weeks, right?" Peter smiled. "Besides, it's Christmas! Oh, that reminds me, sorry..." he rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a square-shaped package, wrapped messily in silver paper. He smiled softly as he handed it to Hamish.

"Thanks, Peter!" Hamish beamed. He shuffled his foot. "I-I kind of... forgot..."

"No worries." Peter smiled.

"No, I want to give you something... oh!" Hamish searched in his bag quickly and presented Peter with a large, slightly rusted, gold magnifying glass. "Here."

Peter's eyes widened. That was Hamish's favourite thing – he used it to identify footprints and insects and everything else. "No, I can't take that! It looks way too expensive, and besides, you love that thing!"

Hamish stroked the glass thoughtfully. "I do, but you're my friend. So take it." he pushed it into Peter's hands. "Merry Christmas, Spidey."

Peter beamed. "Merry Christmas, Holmes."

* * *

Loki sat in a dark holding cell, listening to a cold silence. He had no sceptre, but he could use his powers, though the strange man had advised him against it. The door to the cell opened.

"Hello!"

Loki looked round. A short-ish man stood in the doorway. He wore a sharp black suit and a wicked grin, his hair slicked back and a box in his arms. He walked into the room and stood before Loki, presenting him with the box.

"What may I call you?" the man asked.

"Loki, God of Mischief." Loki's throat felt sore. "What is this box?"

"On Earth we have an annual celebration called Christmas. We give each other presents, for some strange and boring reason. I've never celebrated it. But now I am! Merry Christmas, Loki!"

Loki frowned and opened the box – a green suit with a gold and green striped tie lay neatly inside. He grinned.

"A new attire?"

"You're welcome. It was very expensive, so I hope you appreciate the gesture."

Loki leaned back in his chair. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man grinned a shark-like smile. He stepped forward.

"I'm Jim Moriarty – and I want to change the world."


	10. Back to Basics

**Note: **quick chapter to get our heroes back to school. Thank you all for favouriting and reviewing! It means a lot to me.

Chapter 10 – Back to Basics

St Olivers' hadn't changed during the holidays. The light dusting of snow had partly melted away long before the students returned, and the grounds were covered in that horrible brown slushy stuff that seeps into your socks and makes you uncomfortable all day. Footprints and suitcase tracks covered the brown stuff, and hundreds of pupils thundered across the streets towards the building. It was chilly, and as Peter Parker walked up to his dorm, his shoes sliding on the floor, he felt a cold shiver go up his spine.

Room 1B was exactly how he'd left it – neat and tidy, with a few posters still on the wall – and Peter was soon settled into his bunk with a cup of tea from the kitchen and an old book from Hamish's side of the room. There was a knock on the window.

"Peter!"

Peter looked round – Iron Man was stood (hovering) there in his metal suit, a box held between his hands. The boy jumped up and opened the window, letting the man in. Iron Man looked round.

"This is your dorm?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm in it." Peter grimaced.

"Stop the sass, Spidey!" his Dad frowned. He coughed. "You left this-" Iron Man held out the box in his hands. "-on your desk. Thought you'd want it back."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, Dad." Peter set the box carefully down on his bed.

"What is it?"

"Hamish gave it to me – it's a magnifying glass." Peter smiled.

"Why do you need a magnifying glass?"

"I don't, I just... dunno. I like it." Peter shrugged.

Iron Man looked at his son strangely, but dropped it and moved towards the window. "Well, I just came to drop that off- oh, and Capsicle says hi."

"Hi." Peter grinned.

"What else was it... oh yeah, your Gwen called."

"Gwen?"

"Yeah. She wants to fondue." Iron Man winked.

Peter blushed red. "What?!"

"I'm kidding!" Iron Man laughed. "She said to email her or something. Later, kiddo!" Iron Man saluted and dropped out of the window, his suit whirring. He hovered outside the window for a moment, then his voice echoed through the JARVIS system: "That kid Hamish... you like him?"

"Yeah, he's my friend."

Iron Man nodded. "Okay. Just... be careful."

"Why?" Peter frowned.

"You know your reputation – and his. I don't want you getting in trouble again."

"We won't. I think the whole school knows not to mess with us."

"Good." Iron Man grinned. "I love you, son."

"Love you too, Dad."

Iron Man nodded and flew off, leaving Peter to his book.

* * *

Hamish opened the door to 1B to find Peter at his desk, frowning at something on his computer. Hamish shut the door loudly. Peter jumped and swivelled round in his chair, a smile on his face.

"Hey, Hamish!"

"Afternoon, Peter." Hamish nodded. He went over to his bed and set down his suitcases, packing things away neatly. "How was your holiday?"

"Not bad." Peter mused. "The guys came round for Christmas dinner and Banner Hulked out." Peter chuckled, remembering Thor eating five turkeys before anyone noticed and Bruce getting pissed off at him. He turned back to Hamish. "What about you?"

"Oh, boring as usual. Uncle Mycroft ate the whole cake and Uncle Greg got drunk again." Hamish grinned. Lestrade was a funny drunk. He could solve world hunger and shave the cat at the same time.

"Cool." Peter nodded and turned back to his computer.

"What are you doing now?" Hamish asked.

"Messaging Gwen. She couldn't come over to HQ because of Fury's security, so I'm on IM with her."

Hamish blinked. "Gwen? Oh, your girlfriend."

"That's right." Peter smiled.

The message icon popped up and his smile widened – he clicked on it and spent ten minutes typing a reply. Hamish rolled his eyes and continued his unpacking. An hour later and Peter was still typing to Gwen, Hamish was reading a book on his bed, and the light was starting to fade out of the sky. Hamish looked over at his friend, who was grinning like an idiot at the screen.

"Peter?"

"Mm?"

"Are you still messaging Gwen?"

"Yep."

"What's she saying?"

"Just stuff." Peter started typing again.

Hamish leant back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He wished he had someone to IM. He wished Peter would pay attention to him. He looked over again.

"Peter?"

"What?"

"Are you going to go to the woods today?"

"Why?"

"Y'know... Spidey stuff."

"Oh. No, I don't think so. Gwen's online." Peter murmured.

Hamish nodded, but Peter didn't notice. The black-haired boy stared at the ceiling again. He wished Gwen would go offline. He wished he could read his book without that obnoxious typing tapping sound in his ears.

"Peter?"

The brown-haired boy whirled round to glare at Hamish. "Hamish, please, I'm trying to type here. If you want privacy, you'll have to wait."

"I don't want privacy."

"Then what do you want?"

Hamish shrugged. Peter sighed and turned back to his laptop, resuming his typing. Hamish stood up and wandered to the door.

"I'm going out."

Peter didn't reply. The door shut quietly.


	11. Jealousy is Not a Defect

**Note: **thank you all for everything! You know this by now. Let's get on with it. If you haven't read Chapter 1 (which is highly unlikely), please read it before this chapter. It'll make so much more sense. Also, to Avengelock Fan – no, I'm not bringing in Alex, sorry! But there is a little surprise, so please stay tuned!

Chapter 11 – Jealousy is Not a Defect

The definition of 'jealousy', according to the 1999 edition of the Children's Illustrated Dictionary, is "being unhappy because you want what somebody else has".

Hamish had never looked up the definition of jealousy when he had possessed the dictionary. He'd never thought to. Of course, he'd witnessed it. He'd just never connected it. For instance, when a child at his school had a tantrum because he wanted the toy car another child was playing with. For another instance, the way Hamish's Father looked – glared – at John when John talked to other people. Hamish had seen jealousy; but he'd never felt or expressed it the way other people did, or thought about it as any other emotion than hatred or sadness.

Hamish had spent an hour in the newly redecorated library at St Oliver's when the lights had begun to go out. He hurried back to his dorm just in time. The memory of just an hour ago came back – he'd stormed out of the room when Peter got angry. Why had he left? He could have faced Peter and told him that he thought he was being an idiot for talking to some girl, that he thought Peter needed to come back down to Earth and focus on something, anything, other than Gwen. Hamish shook his head. Those thoughts were completely irrational. If Peter wanted a girlfriend, good for him. If he wanted to spend hours talking to her instead of Hamish, go right ahead. Hamish sighed. His thoughts were a jumble and he didn't like it. Holmes' needed ordered thoughts. This stupid emotion was wrecking his whole foundation.

So this was what jealousy felt like? Well. This sucked.

Hamish opened the door and went into the room, looking around. Peter was flat out on his bed, snoring softly, his laptop put away in its bag under his bed. Hamish was sorely tempted to steal and hack into the laptop, but there'd be no point – what would he want from Peter's laptop anyway? He could switch the keys round and make it really confusing to type on. He could log into the IM thingy and have a nice little chat with Gwen. He could erase all Peter's files or rename them them all to 'Peter sucks' or something just as juvenile. But why would he want to do any of that? Peter was his best friend. So what if Hamish was a little jealous? He wasn't malicious. He wasn't a _bully_. He smiled. Peter deserved to be happy.

It's not like they were in love or something, right?

* * *

"Hamish! Hamish, wake up!"

Hamish opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurring. He yawned. "What?"

"Gwen's coming here!" Peter grinned.

Hamish groaned and sank back onto his pillows. "Great."

"You could be a bit more excited." Peter huffed.

"Great!"

"That's better. She's coming tomorrow on one of Dad's private jets." Peter started pacing, humming a quiet, calming tune to himself. It didn't settle his nerves.

Hamish coughed. "You really like this girl."

"Of course I do!" Peter laughed.

The lanky genius smiled and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Well then. Good." he looked around. "Let's get tidying!"

Peter beamed. "Is this your way of giving us your blessing?"

"Let me talk to her first, then I might be persuaded to give you up." Hamish winked.

Peter laughed.

* * *

"Is everything ready?"

Jim Moriarty looked up at the ceiling of the observatory. Moran had built himself a chamber near the corner of the ceiling, and he set up his rifle, Suzie, before giving a thumbs-up to Jim. The genius grinned.

"Everything's ready!"

Loki walked slowly out of his room, his green and gold outfit shining in the dull moonlight. He sneered at Jim. "Good. Tomorrow we arise."

"Just remember who's in charge." Moriarty frowned. "I'm giving you power, but you need to-"

"WAIT! Dad! Hey!"

Moriarty and Loki turned round to see a man dressed in red and black, two long swords on his back and a mask covering his face. He whipped off the mask to reveal dirty blond hair and sparkling eyes.

"Wade? What are you doing here?" Jim frowned.

"Well, I overheard your conversation with Dad, and I wanted to help you. You know I'm trained in combat and everything else – the other day, Dad let me shoot a rabbit with his rifle, and I missed, but that's not the point – so I was wondering-"

"Wade, Wade, stop." Jim held up a hand. "I don't care. You are not putting yourself in the middle of Daddy's project."

"But-"

"No buts. Go to your room."

"Dad, that's not fair!"

"Wade Wilson, you go to your room!" Moran shouted from his hiding place. His voice echoed around the observatory, and Wade flinched.

"Fine." he turned to Loki. "Nice outfit."

"Thank you." Loki frowned. "Who are you?"

"Don't ask him!" Moriarty hissed.

Wade grinned and whipped out his swords, striking a pose with them. "The name's Deadpool!"

Moriarty rolled his eyes, but the God seemed interested.

"Impressive!" Loki raised an eyebrow. "What power do you possess?"

"I can use these swords and cut my enemy to ribbons! Plus I'm an expert at hand-to-hand, I'm the master of the fourth wall, and I've got a brilliant costume!" Deadpool winked at the readers. "Hey, beautiful."

Moriarty groaned and put a hand to his face. "Great. Now we've got two super-morons."

"But that's not all!" Wade grinned. "I know someone very important to your cause."

"Mm?"

"I go to St Oliver's Boarding School – yeah, thanks Dad, I really appreciate being stuck in Ireland – so I'm in a lot of classes with some really intelligent people. And one of those people is Hamish Holmes."

Moriarty grimaced. "We know that already."

Wade's face fell. "Oh. Then, uh, I know other people! Like Peter Parker – he's a genius too!"

Jim glanced at Loki, who widened his eyes. "The human spider? You have connections to our foe?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Wade shrugged. "So am I in the 'project' now?"

Jim grinned. He put a hand on Wade's shoulder and hugged him. "Son, welcome aboard."

Wade beamed. "Thanks, Dad!"


	12. The Assassin's Son

**Note:** rather long back-story chapter. I really really love Deadpool. Sorry if you love him too and I've messed him up, but really – I LOVE DEADPOOL. I imagine him as a mini Ryan Reynolds. Because reasons.

Chapter 12 – The Assassin's Son

Not many people at St Olivers' knew much about Wade Wilson. They knew _of_ him, of course – the loud, humorous joker that played pranks and got into fights and talked non-stop (sometimes to an invisible camera). He spent most of his time either in class cracking jokes or alone on the field with his knives. School wouldn't allow swords. Shame.

Wade had spotted a friend as soon as Peter Parker entered the classroom. He walked up to Peter with the biggest grin, sat next to him, offered his hand and said:

"Hi, I'm Wade Wilson, and let me tell you – I'm fucking awesome."

The same couldn't be said for Hamish Holmes. Hamish had sat on the opposite side of Peter and smiled quickly at Wade; the blond had nodded, but not made his acquaintance. The kid seemed weird. There was something... not right about him. But Peter seemed to like him, so Wade tolerated Holmes for Parker's sake.

Wade's story wasn't happy, which was why he never told it. His mother died of cancer when he was a baby; his father was abusive; he went into the military at a young age, where a newly-wed Sebastian Moran took him in and made him have a proper education at St Olivers'. Wade didn't like school. He liked his knives and swords, however, and he took every opportunity to practice sword-fighting.

He went home at Christmas to see his parents, like everyone else, but unlike everyone else, his Dad was a master assassin, his other Dad was a consulting criminal, and his recently adopted Uncle was a fallen God.

So, overall, a pretty conventional family.

Sebastian and Jim were loving parents – well, as loving as they could be. Sebastian was mostly away on a job, and Jim would either be with him or on his own errands, so Wade being at boarding school was brilliant for protection and a home away from home. But when Wade came home on holidays, they always made sure to be there with him. Wade loved them... as much as one can love their serial killer adopted gay parents.

* * *

"No, no, no!" Sebastian groaned. "It's drop, curve, drop, curve!"

"Oh! Okay!" Wade nodded. He focussed on the sword in his hand. _Drop, curve, drop- OUCH!_

"What did I tell you?!" Sebastian growled. His own sword fell onto the grass and the sniper stepped to Wade's side, holding his son's bleeding arm. Wade winced.

"It's just a scratch, Dad."

"Nonsense. Jim!" Sebastian called.

Jim looked up from his book and rolled his eyes. "Again? Why can't you play with something less sharp? I'll get you a puppy, how about that? Or a goldfish?"

Wade laughed, but Sebastian frowned at his husband and motioned for him to throw over the bandages. Sebastian wrapped his son's arm up, fixing him with a glare.

"Don't try and show off this time, okay?" the sniper picked up his sword. "Training isn't about who can jump the highest – it's learning how to jump."

"Or how to slice an enemy to pieces." Wade shrugged.

"That too. Come on then – drop, curve, drop, curve. Figure of eight." Sebastian motioned with his sword.

Wade nodded. He focussed his eyes on the shiny blade in his hands. _One day, I'll be a master of swordsmanship. I can't wait!_

* * *

"Why are we doing this, Dad?"

Sebastian took a bite of his sandwich, looking out of the window. He swallowed, then turned to Wade, who blinked at him. "Do you trust us, son?"

"Of course!"

Sebastian sighed. "Good." he leant back on the window, facing Wade. "Years ago, before you were born, your Dad and I had a... feud, a sort of battle, against a man named Sherlock Holmes. Your Dad both adored and hated him. You know your swords?"

Wade nodded.

"Well, your Dad loved Sherlock more than you love your swords."

"But Dad loves you!"

"I know. He loved me back then too, and I know he always will. But this was a different kind of love. It was an obsession." Sebastian's voice grew a bit quieter. "When your Dad met me, we were both broken. He needed a distraction – I wasn't enough. We thought that nothing ever would be. But then this miraculous genius appeared – the great consulting detective, solving crimes. It was perfect. So we started creating crimes for the man to solve, and eventually your Dad and Sherlock met. They met about three or four times, actually."

"What happened?" Wade's eyes were wide.

"The Fall." Sebastian sighed. "It doesn't matter. What matters is right here, right now – just us." he smiled at Wade.

"So, that's great and all, since I do love a good story. Great characterisation. But you didn't answer me. Why are we doing this?" Wade frowned.

"To settle a score." Jim stepped from the shadows, followed by Loki. Wade jumped, and Sebastian smiled grimly.

"A score?"

"The Avengers must pay." Loki grinned. "We will take vengence on the sons for their fathers' ignorance. The 'superheroes' will be destroyed, along with your Holmes and his soldier."

"So you'll kill Peter... a-and Hamish... for something their parents did?" Wade gasped.

Jim chuckled. "Oh no! Not kill. Just... make them suffer." his eyes darkened, and an evil grin spread across his face.

Wade gulped. For the first time in his life, he was utterly helpless.

_Good luck, Parker._


	13. Dinner and Deadpool

**Note: **enough of back-stories, let's get down to the plot! (Also, every single review you guys give me just makes my day, so thank you so so much!)

Chapter 13 – Dinner and Deadpool

"Hamish, please don't start a fight."

"Why would I do that?" Hamish blinked innocently at his friend.

Peter sighed. "Just don't."

The actually rather small jet plane landed noisily onto the roof of Holmes mansion. Mycroft had insisted on Hamish, his parents and his friends coming to stay for the weekend because the school hadn't allowed a plane onto their field. Spoilsports. Plus Mr Christie hadn't been too keen on Hamish and Peter actually coming back to the school, but after a large bribe from both sets of parents, he'd been more lenient.

Sherlock, Mycroft, John, Hamish and Peter were stood on the roof, impatiently waiting for the plane to land. Sherlock's eyes flicked to his son – Hamish was wearing his forced smile; Peter either hadn't noticed or didn't recognise it. Sherlock nudged John, indicating Hamish's face, but John just shushed him, making the taller man pout.

The plane door opened, and a pretty girl stepped out. She wore a professional white blouse and blue sleeveless jumper, a short blue skirt and tall brown boots that reached her knees. Her blonde hair was tired back in a brown Alice band, her lips a soft pink, and her eyes sparkled when she spied Peter.

"Parker!" she grinned.

"Hey Gwen!" Peter beamed. He rushed towards her, stopping just in front of her and rocking back on his heels awkwardly. "It's good to see you again."

"Your hair's longer." Gwen smiled.

"Yeah, sorry, uh-"

"I like it." she leaned forward to embrace Peter, who blushed and wriggled free. She giggled.

Hamish rolled his eyes and strode forward, offering his hand for Gwen to shake. "Hamish Holmes. It's a pleasure."

"Hi!" Gwen took the offered hand and smiled. "Pleasure's all mine. So you're Peter's friend?"

"Correct."

"And those are your parents?" she nodded over Hamish's shoulder to the Holmes clan.

"Yes. The one in the black coat is my Father and the one with the evil glare is my Uncle." Hamish waved a hand at them, and John grinned, understanding, swiftly pulling Sherlock and Mycroft (and the rather befuddled jet pilot) downstairs into the living room. Hamish turned back to Gwen and nodded.

Gwen laughed. "Fair enough! So have you been taking care of our Spidey?"

"You know about Spidey?" Hamish raised his eyebrows.

"Of course!"

_Of course. _Hamish resisted the urge to glare at an unusually quiet Peter. He coughed. "Yes, I have."

"Good." Gwen smiled.

Hamish licked his lips quickly, wringing his hands behind his back. "You are staying for two days." it was a statement, not a question, but Gwen nodded anyway.

"Yeah. Thanks for having me – I know I'm a stranger and all." Gwen smiled politely.

"No trouble." Hamish smiled awkwardly.

There was a pause. Peter shuffled his feet while Gwen and Hamish sized each other up. Gwen was a nice girl – brave, smart, funny and very good-looking. Hamish couldn't fault her. Well, of course he could, he was a Holmes. But she seemed nice, and he wanted to be friends, especially since Peter liked her. Hamish smiled.

"I'll show you to your room."

* * *

The doorbell had been ringing for about five minutes now, and John was desperately trying to communicate with Mycroft telepathically to open the door. It hadn't worked so far. The Holmes brothers were avoiding each other, as usual, with Sherlock sprawled on their bed upstairs and Mycroft working in the study. John was in the kitchen making tea; the kids had gone into the garden to play Nintendo or whatever kids these days did. Mycroft probably had a hologram room in the shed or something. The doorbell kept ringing.

"Isn't anyone going to get that?" John called. No reply. Sherlock had probably fallen asleep, and Mycroft was ignoring it. John groaned. He walked down the long hallway and wrenched the heavy door open. He smiled apologetically. "Hello. Sorry about the wait."

The visitor grinned. "No problem! Is Hamish here?"

"Yes. Are you one of his friends?"

"Uh-huh! Are you his Dad?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

They stood there for a moment, the visitor smiling happily, John fiddling with the door handle. The doctor coughed.

"Would you like to come in? We're about to have dinner, I think."

"Yes please!"

"What was your name again?"

"Wilson. Wade Wilson."

* * *

"So, Miss Stacey." Mycroft smiled in his honey-like voice. "You are friends with Peter and Hamish, I assume?"

"You know she is." Sherlock growled.

"Sherlock, quiet." John frowned.

Gwen smiled. "Yes, I am. I'm actually Peter's girlfriend."

John's eyebrows raised. "But I thought Ha-"

"John, quiet." Sherlock smirked. Hamish glared at his plate.

The entire ensemble, plus Wade, were seated around the massive dinner table. Mycroft, Wade and John were the only ones actually eating – Sherlock had an empty plate and a headache, while Hamish, Gwen and Peter picked at their food.

"This is delicious, Mr Holmes!" Wade mumbled through a mouthful of chicken.

"Thank you, Mr Wilson." Mycroft smiled. He still seemed suspicious of the boy who showed up with no invitation or suitcase, but as Wade was nothing but polite, Mycroft had begrudgingly accepted him into the house. Sherlock and Hamish had been on their guards the minute they'd been introduced to the sandy-haired boy. (John really didn't care. This chicken was indeed delicious and he'd be damned if he didn't eat it.)

"Why are you here again?" Hamish sighed.

"Hamish, don't be rude." Mycroft grimaced.

"No, no, it's okay Mr Holmes." Wade smiled. He turned back to Hamish. "I just wanted to see how you and Gwen were getting on."

"Why are you concerned with us?" Gwen frowned.

"Well, it's no secret that Hamish loves Peter." Wade shrugged. "Has he told you yet?"

"Wade!" Hamish yelped. His fork clattered to the floor, and he jumped to his feet. "How dare you!"

"Hamish! Sit down now!" Sherlock growled.

Hamish wasn't listening. "How do you- I mean, it's not true. It's not true."

"You can say that all you like, but I know it is." Wade shrugged.

Hamish sucked in a breath. "Why are you trying to aggravate me? What's the motive?"

"Hamish, calm down." Mycroft set a hand on Hamish's arm.

"Get off him!" Sherlock hissed.

"Sherlock, please!" John groaned.

Peter gaped at them all. This was madness! Hamish glared at Wade a second more before stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Sherlock and John glanced at each other, but Gwen just turned to Wade with a dangerous glare.

"So what? It's none of your concern."

Everyone turned to her. Gwen continued:

"I like Peter, and I don't blame Hamish if he does too. It's not an issue or anything that needs to be desperately dealt with. However, you poking your nose into something that's obviously none of your concern is a big issue." Gwen stood up. "If you came here just to tell me that someone else is in love with my boyfriend, then you've wasted your time."

Wade grinned. "Have I now?"

"Yes." Gwen exited the room too, running after Hamish.

Wade glanced at a slightly ruffled Mycroft. He beamed. "Great chicken, Mr Holmes!"

"Get out."

"Okie dokie."

* * *

"Hamish?" No reply. Gwen sighed and leant her forehead on the door. "Hamish, I don't care if you like Peter. Please open the door." Silence. "Hamish?"

A long moment passed, and Gwen frowned. She pulled on the door handle – not locked. Oops. She drew in a breath as she opened the door and stepped inside the room. Shattered glass was everywhere, the wind blowing the curtains dramatically through the window. Hamish was missing. Gwen hurried to the window, searching...

Then everything went black.


	14. Take Control

**Note:** short chapter. I know people have been skipping some of the chapters – please don't! You might miss something funny/important/both. I want you to enjoy this, not to be bored!

Chapter 14 – Take Control

After Wade was unceremoniously exited from the building, Mycroft had retired to his study; Sherlock was pacing in the living room, but Peter was still in the dining room, clearing up the plates. Hamish and Gwen had been upstairs for a while now.

"They're being quiet."

Peter looked round – John was there, his arms folded, his eyes soft. Peter nodded stiffly.

"Did you know Hamish liked me?"

"No. He mentions you in his texts, but I never thought he was the sort to fall in love." John shrugged. He laughed. "He takes after his Father."

Peter smiled. He didn't know what that meant – probably best not to ask. John helped him clear the plates in silence, and as soon as they were done, John swept Peter into a bear hug.

"M-Mr Holmes?"

"Peter, go talk to him." John set the boy down and smiled kindly. "He's my son, he's your friend. It shouldn't matter what sexu-"

"It doesn't!"

"Then why are you still here and not up there?" John smiled.

Peter nodded slowly. "Thanks."

"Go on." John nodded upwards.

Peter sprinted up the stairs towards Hamish's room, then knocked on the door, not waiting for an answer. "Hamish, I-"

"Hello, Peter."

Peter froze. Moriarty was sat on Hamish's bed, reading one of his comic books. He smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth.

"Have you read this?" Moriarty waved the comic in the air. "Delightful. I wish I had claws like Wolverine. That'd be fun."

"Who are you?" Peter frowned.

Moriarty sighed – he actually seemed a bit exasperated. "I'm Jim Moriarty. Hi."

"Hi." Peter stepped cautiously towards the desk. He knew Hamish had an army knife in there somewhere. If he could just-

"Looking for these?" Moriarty yawned, holding up the knife and Peter's camera. Peter stepped back, eyes wide.

"Give that back!" Peter lunged for the camera, but Moriarty was on his feet in a flash, throwing the comic and the camera onto the bed. He stepped behind Peter, gripping the boy's neck between his forearm and chest. He held the knife face-down on Peter's jugular, still smiling that cruel grin.

"Now now, Mr Parker. Let's get through this alive, shall we?"

"What do you want?" Peter growled. The knife pressed harder onto his skin.

Moriarty leaned forward to purr in Peter's ear: "I want power. I want control. And I want Mr Sherlock Holmes to pay for everything he's done."

Peter's eyes widened. "What have you done with Hamish and Gwen?"

"They're safe... for now." Moriarty chuckled. "I will tell you one thing, Peter. We're alike, you and I. You've got a thing for smart kids... so do I."

"We're nothing alike!" Peter yelled. He tore Moriarty's arm away from his neck, shooting the man with his web. The villain fell backwards, the knife clattering to the floor, and Peter continued wrapping him up in the web. Suddenly, a sharp pain came from no-where, pressing onto his chest. A huge man stood before him in a gold and green suit, a golden sceptre in his hand – the source of the pressure. Peter sank to his knees, the veins on his neck turning purple and his eyes lightening. It felt like his whole being was scooped out, replaced by something new, something different – knowledge, power... hunger.

"How do you kill a spider?" Loki whispered. He grinned. "Squash it."

Then everything went black.

* * *

"Sherlock, they've been up there for hours now." John sighed.

"It's only been forty minutes. Leave it, John. They're talking. That, or they're having a small orgy."

"What?!"

"It was a joke." Sherlock frowned.

John sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Just please go see what's taking them so long!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, adjusting his jacket. "Alright. But if they're having sex, I'm not breaking it up."

He walked out of the room before John could comment, jogging up the stairs. He rapped on Hamish's door.

"Hamish? Peter? Alice?" _no, not Alice..._ "Stacey?"_ that's her last name..._ "Gwen!" _bingo. _

No reply. Sherlock frowned and twisted the doorknob – to be met with a blast of wind from the open window. He staggered into the room, hearing the crunch of broken glass under his shoes. The room was a mess – drawers open and paper strewn about the place. A drop of blood was on the windowsill. Sherlock hurried over, whipping out his glass lens and examining the droplet.

"Sherlock, close the window." Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock turned to see his brother in the doorway. He strode up to him furiously. "Where's Hamish?"

"I haven't seen him. I assumed he was with his friends."

"You assumed incorrectly." Sherlock snarled. He took out his phone, dialling a number. It clicked.

"_Good evening. You have reached JARVIS. How may I help?"_

"Connect me to Tony Stark. It's urgent."

A pause. _"Stark here."_

"It's Sherlock Holmes."

"_Hey buddy! What's up?"_

"Peter, Hamish and Gwen are missing."

"_What?!"_

Mycroft stood at Sherlock's side, his hand hovering towards his brother in an almost affectionate gesture. Sherlock frowned grimly. "We need you. Bring everyone."

"_We'll be there as soon as we can."_

Sherlock glanced at the blood again. "Hurry."


	15. Switching Sides

**Note:** the excitement continues!

Chapter 15 – Switching Sides

Peter's head felt heavy. It lolled around on his neck as he came to terms with the surroundings – he was moving, in some sort of vehicle, but that's all he could figure out. There was a whooshing sound in his ears, like waves crashing against the sea shore, and as he slowly opened his eyes, he could see nothing but blurry streaks of black and green. He groaned, trying to sit up.

"Stay down, Spidey." the gentle but firm voice sounded distant and foggy in Peter's ears.

He moved his jaw, trying to speak and failing. A grunt escaped his throat, and the voice chuckled, patting his shoulder gently.

"We're on our way to the base. How are you feeling?"

Peter blinked the blurriness away from his eyes. A man came into view, wearing a sharp black suit and a grin like the Cheshire Cat's. Peter nodded. "F-Fine."

"Good!" the man beamed. "I must admit, you are a very good fighter!"

"Th-Thanks." Peter smiled. He wasn't sure why, but this man seemed nice, and he wanted to impress him. "But wh-who did I fight?"

The man laughed – it was a pleasant sound, and Peter grinned in response. There was a muffled cry somewhere to the left of Peter, and he looked round, his head still slightly foggy, to see a boy tied up in some sort of white rope. Peter blinked. The boy's eyes widened, and he fought against his binds, trying to release the white gag on his mouth. A girl was sat in the corner in the same fashion, but her eyes were tightly closed, a trail of blood dripping from her forehead and mixing with the binds. A man in a green suit grinned at Peter, holding his golden sceptre to one side. Peter turned back to the man in the black suit.

"Who are you?" he gulped.

"I'm your friend, Peter." the man smiled calmly. "My name is Jim. The driver's name is Seb. Say hi, Sebbie!" the driver grunted from the front of the truck. "Oh, and his name is Loki." Jim indicated the man in the green suit, then pointed at the tied boy and girl. "Those two over there tried to hurt you – but as I said, you're a very good fighter!"

"Oh... that's my web. I see now."

"What else do you see?" Jim asked quietly.

"I see..." Peter scrunched up his eyes. An old memory flashed before his lids – a man, no, two men, in suits. One of armour... one of stars. Peter's eyes opened. His irises were a light blue, and his smile expanded as he said: "My next targets."

* * *

"JARVIS, we need you!" Tony plugged in a small futuristic flash-drive into Mycroft's computer. The screens around the room flashed to life, displaying the JARVIS system. Tony turned to Mycroft. "I gotta say, I love your set-up."

"Thank you." Mycroft smiled softly. "Just don't tell MI5."

Tony grinned. Steve sighed.

"Stark, timing!" Steve groaned.

John flashed a look at Sherlock, but the detective wasn't watching – he was staring at the screens with a mixture of horror and anger, the expression that had been frozen onto his face since he'd come downstairs and told John that their son was missing. John squeezed his husband's hand tighter. Sherlock squeezed back.

"Right, JARVIS, analyse the blood sample and tell us whose it is." Tony held up the swab of blood to the small robot, and the system took the sample instantly. It brought up a picture of Gwen.

"Sir, the blood appears to be from Miss Gwen Stacey." JARVIS' cool voice echoed through the room. "I have scanned the mansion from head to toe with the airborne drones, and there seems to be no trace of Mr Hamish or Mr Peter."

"We knew that already!" Sherlock snapped. John pulled him back a bit, and the taller man glared at the floor, fighting his anger.

Tony tapped a few things into the computer. "Peter left his cell phone and camera here – so no trackers on him. Does Hamish have anything on him?"

"He left his phone in his room." John answered. "But Hamish is smart – he must have figured out a way to lead us to whoever took him!"

Sherlock released John, his hands going to his head. He paced around the room. "Yes, Hamish is clever... and so is Gwen, very clever indeed... Peter is too, of course..."

"Thank you!" Tony beamed. "He takes after me."

Sherlock ignored him. "So what would they do... what would three smart kids do if their life was in danger..." he looked up, his eyes widening, then sprinted out of the room and up the stairs.

John, Tony and Steve followed him, leaving Mycroft in the computer room and the other Avengers in the living room. Natasha hurtled to the bottom of the stairs, catching Tony's sleeve.

"Stark! Any leads?"

"None!" he grinned.

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because we've got a detective on the case!" he wrenched his arm free and took off after Sherlock.

Natasha bit her lip. She really hoped Peter was safe – for their sake.

* * *

"Have I been here before?" Peter frowned.

"No, I don't think so." Jim replied absent-mindedly. "Why, do you recognise it?"

"Kind of..." Peter looked round.

They were stood at the front gates of a huge army base, a circular observatory in the centre surrounded by small buildings, much like planets orbiting the sun. Peter walked behind Jim, Seb and Loki, taking it all in. Hundreds of soldiers in black uniform passed them, saluting as they went, and several of them stared at Peter – he looked down to find himself in his Spidey suit. He didn't really mind. It was nice to wear it again. The tied-up boy and girl were both unconscious now, and two soldiers carried them behind Peter, making the group a little procession as they walked with purpose into the circular building. The nucleus of the base was much less busy than the outside, containing only a few soldiers who disappeared as soon as they entered. Plain domed walls surrounded them, with a chamber at the top that had a rifle chained to it. Seb swung himself up there as soon as they entered the building, watching Peter with an intense glare.

Jim turned to the soldiers carrying the boy and the girl. "Put them in their cells – you can remove the gags if you wish, but not the binds."

"Yes, sir." the soldiers nodded and walked to the back of the building, opening a small door and disappearing.

Jim turned to Peter with a grin. "Do you like my base?"

"It's impressive." Peter nodded. "Lots of soldiers."

"My own personal army!" Jim beamed. "They're loyal to the last."

"Dad!"

Jim, Peter and Loki turned round to see Wade dressed in his Deadpool costume running towards them, a huge grin on his face.

"Did I do it? Of course I did! Hey, Peter!" he caught Spidey into a hug. "Sorry about this, but I did well, didn't I, Dad?"

"Yes, you did, son." Jim held Wade's shoulders tightly, a genuine smile appearing on his face. "I'm very proud of you." he held him close in a rare moment of tenderness, then let him go, averting his eyes.

Wade smiled so big that his cheeks hurt. "Thanks, Dad."

Loki growled at the reunion. "Sentiment."

"Shut up, Daddy Issues." Jim rolled his eyes. "Wade, get Peter and yourself washed up for dinner. It's chicken night."

"Awesome." Wade nodded. He took Spidey's arm and led him out of the room. "You're gonna love dinner. My Dad does a _mean_ chicken curry!"


	16. Trackers

**Note: **tiny chapter. Please review – thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/anything's this fanfic! I really appreciate it!

Chapter 16 – Trackers

"_Gwen? Gwen, are you alright?"_

The blonde lifted her head, her vision blurring, her arms feeling like dead weight against her sides. Looking down, she saw that she was bound in white rope – no, not rope, the spider web that Peter used. She frowned. Was this some kind of weird bondage thing?

"Gwen?"

She looked round – Hamish was somewhere to the left of her, but a huge white wall stood in the way of seeing him. She glanced around. She was in a room like a tiny padded cell without the padding – white all round, with thin walls and no windows, about two metres across and three metres high.

"Gwen, for God's sake, answer me!"

She blinked the rest of the blurriness away. "Hamish?" she wiggled like a worm over to the left wall, leaning against it.

There was a sigh of relief. "Gwen, thank God. Are you hurt?"

Gwen checked herself over mentally. "I don't think so. Are you?"

"Broken arm, nothing bad." there was a sort of faint shuffle, and a small wince before: "Are you tied up too?"

"Yeah. Who were those guys?"

"They said in the truck that their names were Jim, Sebbie and Loki. I don't know what they're planning, but... this rope..." there was a long, awful pause. "It's Peter's web, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Where is he?"

"I don't know. I think they've done something to him. He didn't seem himself – he had something weird with his eyes, and..." Hamish trailed off, and Gwen could have sworn she heard a sob.

"Hey, hey, Hamish! Don't cry!"

"I'm not crying!" he snapped. "I'm worried about Peter!"

"Right." Gwen smiled softly. "Before we came here... before the kidnapping, I mean. Wade said that you liked Peter. Is that true?"

There was another long pause. Gwen pressed her ear against the wall, desperate for Hamish to say something, anything. It didn't matter what. Just...

"Yes."

Gwen smiled. "Okay."

"What?"

"It's okay. I don't mind, honestly. It's not even to do with me – it's none of my business. You like Peter, and, to be honest, I think he likes you too."

"Don't play games with me!" Hamish shouted. There was a thump on the wall, and Gwen assumed (correctly) that Hamish had kicked the wall. "He doesn't like me, and I don't even-"

"Hamish, please!" Gwen sighed. "I-"

"_Spiderman! Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can! Spins a web, any size! Catches thieves, just like flies! Look out, here comes the Spiderman!"_

Both kids froze. Gwen frowned. "That's my phone."

"You have a phone?!" Hamish cried.

Gwen shushed him, wriggling herself to try and get it. She sighed. "I can't answer it. My hands are tied – literally."

"You had a phone all this time? Oh, well, that's convenient." Hamish rolled his eyes.

Gwen ignored him. "If I have my phone, that means they can track us, right?"

Hamish didn't answer. The phone stopped ringing.

* * *

The parents stood in the middle of Hamish's room. Sherlock had given up looking for clever clues – the empty bottle of linseed oil had proved completely irrelevant, and the blood was a mere sign of an injury, not a sign of their whereabouts. Hamish and Peter's phones were on the bed, and John stared at them longingly. He'd rip the kidnappers apart if it meant he'd get his Hamish back. He still felt guilty for sending his son to St Olivers. If he hadn't done that, would they be in this situation? John buried his head in his hands, and Steve joined him, patting his back. Sherlock leaned towards them, a grim expression on his face.

"Try Gwen's phone."

"Why?" John growled.

"Just do it."

Five minutes later, and Tony and Sherlock were grinning, John and Steve more confused than ever.

"Gwen isn't answering, but the phone isn't here." John frowned.

"She has it with her." Tony grinned. "Clever girl."

"So we can track her, and find where they are?" Steve's eyes were wide.

"Well, there's a problem." Tony sighed. "Gwen's phone doesn't have a tracker on it."

"It's worth a shot though!" John put his own phone back into his pocket. "Can't you trace the signal?"

Sherlock glanced up to smile proudly at John, who ignored him with some difficulty. Tony nodded at the small blond.

"I can, but it'll take a while." he took out his computer-phone, dialling Gwen's number again.

"Take your time." John nodded.

"But quite quickly." Sherlock added.


	17. Mr Moriarty

**Note:** sorry about the boring chapter last time. This one should be better.

Chapter 17 – Mr Moriarty

"Stark, have got you anything?" Steve's voice sounded tinny through the JARVIS system.

"Not yet, hold on."

Iron Man flew above Holmes Mansion, his suit whirring, scanning for the signal from Gwen's phone. The sky was annoyingly blue, irritatingly cheerful for the tragedy of just a few hours before. Tony's heart throbbed painfully, not from the reactor, but from genuine terror – why did they need Peter? More importantly, what were they doing to him? Tony gritted his teeth. _We'll find you, Pete, if it's the last thing we do._

"Sir, I've got a lead." JARVIS announced. Tony grinned in relief.

"Cap', you got that?" Iron Man replied to his husband.

"Yeah – fifty degrees to your right, heading East. There's an old military base where the signal stops."

"Want me to check it out?"

"Go for it. Holmes will help."

"Which one?" Iron Man frowned.

"Sherlock."

"'Kay. I'll get a head start."

"Wait, Stark?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

A slight pause, then: "Be safe."

Iron Man grinned. "Don't you know me at all?"

"Would I have married you if I did?" Steve grinned back.

"Guys, stop flirting and get on with it." someone groaned, probably a jealous Coulson.

"Fine. I'll be back when I have Peter."

"Good luck."

Iron Man nodded, then zoomed off in the direction of the signal, leaving a sonic boom in his wake.

* * *

Sherlock swung himself into the Jeep, pressing a quick kiss to John's forehead. "I will return with Hamish."

"You better." John smiled softly. He leaned through the window, kissing the man properly on the lips, and Sherlock smiled back before driving off, the wheels kicking up dust on the driveway. John watched him go, his heart heavy in his chest.

"He'll be back before you know it." Bruce reassured him.

John nodded. "Thanks, doc'."

"Any time. But right now, we need to focus." Bruce murmured.

John swerved and strode into the Mansion, Bruce at his heels, heading for the computer room. Natasha, Clint, Coulson and Thor were waiting for them, staring at the screens, watching for any sign of life. John joined them, Bruce keeping away from the small crowd but peering over peoples' shoulders.

"Any luck?" John asked.

"Not a thing." Natasha sighed. "Who would want them, anyway? No disrespect."

"No, it's fine." John shook his head. "I want to know too."

"This seems like my brother's doing." Thor growled. "He vowed revenge the last time we met."

"Loki is locked up!" Clint frowned.

"That's strictly not true." Coulson winced. "Someone broke him out of the truck that was transporting him to prison. We haven't heard anything from him since."

"And you're just mentioning this now?!" Clint's jaw dropped.

Suddenly, a huge crackle filtered through the computer – the screen flickered, JARVIS protesting against the intrusion, and a large pale face grinned out at them.

"_Hello, Avengers. And Johnny boy! How nice to see you."_

"Moriarty." John growled, his vision turning red, his hands balling into fists.

"You know him?" Natasha asked. John kept silent, glaring at the screen.

_"Oh, yes, he definitely knows me. How's our Sherlie?"_

"Fuck you." John hissed. Moriarty grinned.

"You are the villain that we seek?" Thor frowned.

"_Who's the blond?" _Moriarty cocked his head slightly. _"He's cute. Oh, don't look at me like that, Seb." _Moriarty giggled to someone behind the camera.

"Where is my brother?" Thor slammed a fist down on the table.

"_He's in his room, probably moping again." _Moriarty sighed. _"He misses you."_

"Where's Peter?" Steve cut in.

"_Be patient!" _Moriarty chuckled. _"He's right here." _he gestured to someone – and Peter, still in his Spidey outfit, stepped before the camera, looking mildly confused. Steve yelped.

"Peter! Oh, my son! You're alive!"

"_Of course!" _Moriarty frowned. _"He'd be no use to me dead. Say hello, Peter."_

"_Hello." _Peter smiled, looking rather relaxed.

"Peter, have they hurt you?" Steve grabbed the screen, determined to get as close to Peter as possible. John hauled him back.

"Where's Hamish?" John growled.

"And Gwen?" Bruce asked.

"_I'm fine." _Peter smiled. _"The two children are locked up somewhere."_

"Are they hurting you?" Clint frowned.

Peter shrugged. _"No. We had curry. Wade was right – you are a good cook!" _he turned to Jim with a grin.

Moriarty laughed. _"Thank you! Now then, tell them what happened."_

"_I was bad." _Peter bit his lip and sighed. _"I thought working with the Avengers would... help me. Now I see that Jim and Seb and Wade and Loki – a-and the soldiers, of course – are my only friends." _he smiled into the camera. _"They showed me the light."_

Everyone noticed the new blue irises in Peter's eyes, and Clint clutched his chest, remembering just how it felt to be on Loki's side. Natasha shot a glance at him.

"Peter, what happened to you?" Steve whispered, real tears pricking his eyes. It was devastating to see Peter this way. This wasn't the child he'd raised – this was someone new, someone deadly and wrong.

"_You'll find out soon, Captain." _Moriarty drawled. _"By the way, we noticed Tin Man and Sherlock Holmes-" _Moriarty's smile grew more pronounced. _"-are on their way."_

John yelled: "If you lay a finger on Sherlock, I swear to God-"

"_Oh John, I remember this. The anger of the soldier. So boring." _Moriarty rolled his eyes. _"That's all for now. Toodles!"_

JARVIS crackled again, the picture of Moriarty and Peter fading and jerking.

"Sir, the powe- i- fail-" the system went black, the screens shutting down.

"No, no no!" John yelped.

Clint ripped the back panel off the computer, and the Avengers and John stared at the complex jumble of wires and cables, the lights flashing erratically. John glanced at Steve.

"What do you think?"

"It seems to run on some sort of electricity." Steve sighed. A tear spilled over onto his cheek, but he made no move to wipe it away. He just stared at the ruined computer, the event reeling through his mind, Moriarty's face distorting into that of the Red Skull. Peter grinned at Steve through his dangerous blue eyes. Steve shuddered, remembering the first time Peter looked up at him through his natural chocolate eyes. His proper eyes. Steve's proper Peter.

"Only Stark knows how this tech works." Bruce murmured, breaking the silence. "I can help, but only a little."

"Do what you can." John whispered. "Just get it working."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Hamish squeezed his eyes shut, curled into a ball, his broken arm hurting like Hell. They'd been here for three hours, twelve minutes and four seconds, his internal clock told him, and despite the crushing boredom it had given Hamish time to reflect. Three things had become apparent in this time.

Firstly: he was not in love with Peter Parker. He had a deep emotional attachment to the boy, and he liked him, of course, but love is merely a chemical, as his Uncle Mycroft had told him many times. So he felt reassured.

Secondly: his parents would find him soon. Sherlock would have noticed by now that they were missing, and John would stop at nothing to get him back. So he felt safe.

Thirdly: someone was walking down the corridor, whistling and swinging some keys. So he felt scared.

"Hey, Hamish!" Deadpool unlocked the door to the cell, poking his masked head through. "How are you?"

Hamish threw him a look of contempt. "Fuck you."

Deadpool laughed. "Still got some life in ya!"

"You're American." Hamish smiled. He made no effort to move, so he stared at the man from the floor, his legs still tucked under his chin.

Deadpool nodded. "Yep. Well, born there. Well... sort of."

"And you like cats." Hamish tried desperately to stall the man. That's what his Father would do.

Deadpool shrugged. "They're okay. Anyway." he strode forwards, hauling Hamish to his feet and untying the bonds.

"Where's Peter?" Hamish asked.

"Safe." Deadpool looked through his mask into Hamish's eyes. "I promise."

"You promise?" Hamish scoffed.

"I will not let any harm come to Peter. Do you understand me?" Deadpool sounded genuinely serious, so Hamish nodded. The binds fell to the floor, only to be replaced by some cold handcuffs on Hamish's wrists.

"Where are we going?" Hamish asked.

"To the main room. My Dad – uh, Mr Moriarty. He wants to see you."

Hamish's eyes widened. He'd heard all the stories about Moriarty from his Father – he remembered the way Sherlock's lips trembled, how John held the man's hand whenever the name arose. It had been the tall green man that had taken him from the room, so Hamish had never seen the consulting criminal up-close. He didn't want to. His parents were so scared of him... Hamish gulped.

"W-What about Gwen?" Hamish stammered.

"She'll be fine." Deadpool shrugged. "Come along."

Deadpool held Hamish's shirt collar – it reminded the smaller boy of the attacks he'd received in the past, of the relentless bullying he got at school. He realized a fourth thing: that this was it – this attack, right now, _this _was bullying. That's all. Revenge and hatred and lust for power... it all boils down to one person making themselves feel dominant over another. Hamish's epiphany lasted exactly one and a half seconds before he was wrenched out of his cell and down the hallway, Deadpool dragging him along the corridor.


	18. Bang Bang

**Note: **LOTS OF ACTION! YAY! Please please please review this story – it means a lot!

Chapter 18 – Bang Bang

Wade dragged Hamish into the main building. The dome had been added to since the hostages arrived – a wall of computers was fixed to one of the looming panels, a huge console desk on the ground, much like the JARVIS system in Stark's lab. Hundreds of armed guards circled inside the white building, each with their guns primed, eyes blazing, ready for a fight. Wade pulled Hamish over to a chair near two burly guards and cuffed him to the thing, nodding sagely at the boy. Hamish gulped.

Loki, in his traditional Godly robes, was sat in his 'throne' (really just a big, ornate chair) in the centre of the dome, his sceptre standing at his side, glowing brightly. Peter walked towards Moriarty, his unnatural blue eyes brightening as he walked past the sceptre. Loki grinned, and Hamish's jaw clenched in horror.

"Are you ready, Mr Moriarty?" Loki called.

Moriarty glanced at Loki with a despairing grin and turned to the computer again. He tapped a key, and the screen turned to a colourful sonar reading.

"Look, Peter." Moriarty hugged Peter to his side. Hamish drew in a sharp breath. Moriarty noticed, but pretended not to. "That's your target."

He pointed to a tiny blip on the screen. Peter nodded.

"What do I do, Jim?"

Moriarty grinned cruelly. "Kill him."

* * *

"Okay guys, I'm here." Iron Man gazed around the army base from above. "Steve? Holmes? Still receiving me?" Iron Man frowned slightly at the helmet screen. The signal from Holmes Mansion had suddenly turned into static. "Holmes- WOAH!"

Something flew past Iron Man, and he had to roll in the air to avoid it. JARVIS honed in on the attacker.

"Sir, there are four tanks on the ground. Each of them has locked onto you, and-"

"Yeah, I get it JARVIS!" Iron Man groaned.

Another missile flew at Iron Man, narrowly missing his head. The machine guns in his arms raised, and the bullets rattled out, shooting as many soldiers as possible. They scattered everywhere, shooting back, but their bullets simply bounced off the metal man as he flew high above them. The tanks still shot at him, and eventually one of the missiles got his leg – the thruster cut out, and Iron Man stumbled in mid-air away from the great orange explosion, applying more power to his left hand to keep himself steady. He narrowed his eyes.

"You wanna play?" Iron Man growled. "Fine. Let's play."

He dove down, shooting with both arms now, his one good leg powering his flight. The soldiers ran for cover into their bunks, their comrades falling like snow around them. Iron Man landed on the ground with much more force than he intended, kicking up a cloud of dust around himself. JARVIS tutted at him for being so reckless.

"Sir, we're trying to preserve power, not shatter another thruster." JARVIS sighed.

"Shut up, JARVIS."

A shrill, metallic whine pierced through the air, and a loud, purring voice crackled over a speaker system. "Surrender yourself, Tin Man, or the Spider dies!"

Iron Man gritted his teeth. _Peter. _Play it cool, Tony. It's okay. If they really wanted Peter dead, they'd have done it already. He drew in a breath and shrugged pseudo-casually, leaning on one of the tanks and propping a hand onto his hip. The tank seemed confused.

"So, you've got Spiderman." Iron Man nodded. "Cool. Who are you?"

The voice grinned. "Nope, not telling. Though I must say, I like your suit. Flashy!"

Iron Man glanced at his screen. 60% power. He coughed. "Thanks. It's home-made."

"Ooh, get you, Mr Talented!" the voice laughed. "I bet you have some skilful hands." the wink was implied.

Iron Man grinned, slightly unnerved. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe."

Iron Man sighed. "Sorry, I'm married."

"Me too – though I am a serial killer, so it's kind of an open relationship." the shrug was implied.

Iron Man grinned. "So... what happens now? Dinner?"

"I was actually thinking of having you captured and bound..." the voice mused.

"Kinky." Iron Man raised an eyebrow.

The voice laughed again, and there was a sort of scuffle before: "Sorry, gotta go. Business calls."

"What can you do?" Iron Man shrugged sympathetically.

"I know. It sucks." the voice grew fainter, then: "Fire at will." - before the voice cut off altogether.

The tanks swerved, locking onto the metal man.

Iron Man gulped. "Uh oh."

* * *

Sherlock swerved the car to a halt, stepping out and running quickly towards the back entrance to the army base. A quick lock-pick and a knocked-out security guard later, he was advancing towards the main dome, which had a large sub-building attached to the back. He sidled up to it, his back flat against the wall, and entered the room – it was all too easy, but he wasn't going to waste time while his son was in danger.

Long white walls greeted him, and Johann Sebastian Bach played over the speaker system. The irony was lost on Sherlock. His footsteps clicked annoyingly against the laminate floor, and he had to crouch down more than once to avoid the security guards. One of the corridors was filled with red laser lights, like a James Bond movie. Sherlock had seen too many of those to count, so he went the long way through some rooms, around the corridor, avoiding the obvious trap.

"HELP!"

Sherlock's ears pricked up.

"HELP! SOMEONE!"

He bolted along through yet more doors and found himself in a sort of corridor filled with locked doors. He shuddered. It was cold.

"HELP!"

"Alright, alright!" Sherlock murmured. He worked his way along the doors, peering through peep-holes until he came to the right one. He smiled. "Hello, Gwen."

"M-Mr Holmes?" Gwen Stacey yelped. She was still tied with white bonds, her face stained with tears and her eyes shot through with red. Sherlock clenched his fists.

"I'm going to get you out, I promise." Sherlock rattled the door-handle.

"I think you need a key!" Gwen shouted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, I can see that. Hold on!"

He bent down to the lock and rattled his knife through the gap, cursing every time it slipped. Eventually, the lock clicked, and Sherlock hauled the door open, running inside to hug Gwen. The girl folded into Sherlock's chest, sobbing her heart out.

"I was so scared!" she sniffed. "They took Hamish. They took him, and-"

"Where is he?" Sherlock held her at arm's length, looking into her eyes.

"I don't know. They said-" she stared at him. "They said Mr Moriarty wants to see him."

Sherlock almost dropped her. His mouth formed the words – _Jim Moriarty –_ but no sound came out, his eyes wide and full of fear. Gwen gulped.

"Mr Holmes?" she whispered.

Sherlock snapped into action, tearing off the white bonds with John's army knife. Gwen shook herself off, standing up with immense difficulty. Sherlock carried her, princess-style, out of the cell and down the corridor, out into the afternoon sun. Bach played on.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

A mass of soldiers and tanks stood in a semi-circle before Gwen and the sleuth, their guns trained on their heads. Three large soldiers held a prisoner in shackles – Iron Man, unconscious and covered in battle scars, his helmet removed and his arc reactor fading dangerously. Sherlock gritted his teeth, and Gwen froze, her eyes wide.

"Hello, Holmes." Spiderman grinned.

"Peter!" Gwen yelped.

Spiderman just laughed. He was stood at the front of the crowd, his hands around a small handgun. Sherlock recognised the gun instantly. Of course _he _would want Spiderman. _He _would never pass up such an opportunity. Sherlock licked his lips.

"Peter, do you know who that is?" he pointed to Iron Man. The arc reactor shone for a moment, then went back to blinking.

"The enemy." Spidey replied smoothly.

"Wrong. Do you know who this is?" Sherlock held Gwen a bit higher and tighter.

"The enemy." Spidey repeated.

"Wrong again, Peter. That's your father."

"I have no father." Spidey snapped. "Jim and Loki and Seb and Wade are my family!"

Sherlock grimaced. "Okay. Okay. Fine. We'll come back to that." he glanced at Tony, suddenly glad that the man was unconscious. If he could hear Peter now... he'd probably tear out his heart faster than the shrapnel. Sherlock cleared his throat and started again. "This is Gwen. Don't you remember her?"

Spidey laughed. "Of course! The bitch. The one who wants to repress my powers. The one who wants to... domesticate me."

Gwen's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"Peter, that is not you!" Sherlock growled.

"No, Holmes." Spidey smiled casually. "This has always been me. Hidden away. I was shown the light by the Tesseract – Loki and Jim showed me the way."

"Moriarty lied!" Sherlock shuddered again. "He always lies! That's his game – it's not real, Peter, it's a game!"

"NO, IT'S YOU, HOLMES!" Spidey yelled with sudden ferocity. "YOU ARE THE LIAR!"

"Peter, stop!" Gwen shrieked.

"SILENCE!"

"PETER!"

_BANG! _


	19. Not Every Human Has a Heart

**Note:** I love cliffhangers. Mwahahahahaha.

Chapter 19 – Not Every Human Has a Heart

_BANG!_

Peter glanced at his smoking gun. He dropped it on the floor, backing away from it like it was a snake. "Oh God!"

"AH!" a burst of pain rippled through Sherlock's body, almost making him drop Gwen, who gasped.

"Mr Holmes!"

"I'm fine." he growled. Sherlock glanced at his shoulder – he could feel, rather than see, the dark red blood that was seeping through his shirt and trickling down his chest. It was warm. His vision swam.

Suddenly, there was a cry from behind Peter, and they turned to see Iron Man punching the guards to the ground. His arc reactor was failing badly, blinking erratically, but he persisted in his escape. The metal man rose into the air, dragging his shackles along with him, and zoomed towards Peter, who dodged using his Spidey senses.

"You can't kill me!" Peter cried.

"I wasn't trying to." Iron Man smiled.

He flew towards Gwen and Sherlock, taking the girl off the taller man's hands.

"I'll be back." Iron Man promised.

"Hurry. For Peter's sake." Sherlock nodded.

Iron Man nodded too and rose into the air once more, flying home under the darkening sky. Sherlock sank to the floor as the remaining guards surrounded him, training their guns at his head. Sherlock clutched his shoulder, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"What now?" he asked Peter.

The boy bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Sherlock smiled softly. "It's not your fault."

Peter's eyes darkened, a flash of chocolate brown hinting at the irises – but the colour was gone just as quickly as it had come, replaced once again by the bright, unnatural blue.

"Take him to Jim." he ordered a guard. "He'll have backup."

"Yes sir."

* * *

"He's back!" Coulson ran into the computer room, his phone in his hand. "JARVIS phoned."

Steve's eyes widened. "Is he okay?"

"He didn't say." Coulson sighed. "But he's got Gwen, and he's coming home."

Steve beamed. John smiled at him. _Good for you, Cap'. But where's my genius?_

* * *

"Set him over there." Loki ordered the guards.

They dragged Sherlock over to a wooden chair beside Loki's 'throne' and cuffed him to it, backing away from the lunatic. (Sherlock had been deducing them all on the way back to base. Apparently, one of them had a goldfish called Mr Bubbles.)

"So, where's Moriarty?" Sherlock asked casually.

"You will see him soon, detective." Loki smirked.

"What are you supposed to be?" Sherlock frowned. "Some kind of moose?"

"What's a moose?"

"Big, brown deer type thing." Sherlock shrugged. "John watches nature programs. I don't care for them, myself, but-"

"Silence!"

Sherlock grinned. "I'm curious! Did they have a sale on pointy hats and glow sticks?"

Loki stomped towards Sherlock, holding out his sceptre. "This sceptre is my right!"

"Really? I thought it was your left." Sherlock snickered.

Loki let out a wild cry and poked the sceptre at Sherlock's chest. Nothing happened. He did it again. Still nothing.

"What trickery is this?" Loki hissed. "Humans have hearts!"

Sherlock smiled wistfully. "I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not true." a voice from behind the two of them laughed.

Sherlock and Loki turned to see Jim Moriarty and Peter standing before a tied-up Hamish and a sheepish Deadpool. Moriarty smirked.

"Ah, memories! Long time no see, sweetie."

"Moriarty." Sherlock breathed.

Jim grinned.

* * *

"Let them rest for a few hours." John whispered.

"Will they be alright?" Natasha asked.

John bit his lip. "Gwen will be. Her head is fine, just a little scratch and bump, but Tony..." he sighed. "That might take a while."

The remaining Avengers nodded. The metal man had done well - he'd almost crashed onto the roof of Holmes Mansion, his arc reactor failing completely as he and Gwen fell. Gwen had been fine: shaken and dazed, but alive. Tony... well. Steve had refused to leave Tony's side while he recovered. Tony's heart piece was dying fast, and only time would tell if he'd be fit to fly (or even wake) again.

"Son of a bitch." Coulson sighed. "He's too reckless."

"He saved the child's life!" Thor frowned. "Be respectful!"

Coulson glared at the floor. John knew he felt bad – Coulson cared about Tony just as much as everyone else.

"Right, let's leave them to it." John ushered them all downstairs. He wrung his hands nervously. _I miss you, Sherlock, Hamish. Come home soon... and please, PLEASE be safe. _


	20. The War

**Note: **REAAAALLY late chapter. I sincerely apologise for the wait. I hope it's worth it!

Chapter 20 – The War

It was dark. After an eventful few hours, the plan was in place, and they had decided for some reason to put it into action in the dead of night. There were no stars to guide their way; even the moon seemed to have given up and hidden behind clouds. Coulson tapped his radio nervously; Hawkeye and Black Widow waited for orders; Thor twirled his hammer in his hand, summoning more clouds; Bruce paced in a circle, checking his blood pressure every few seconds. The army of SHIELD agents stood restlessly in a field near the base, monitoring the opposing army and the huge base itself.

Iron Man still lay in his bed at Holmes Mansion, his arc reactor slowly but surely gaining strength...

John Watson held his gun tight. He and Captain America crawled close to the ground, their backs against the fences of the army base. Patrol cars trundled past, and Captain threw out an arm to stop John moving into its path. The truck passed with a crackle of tyres and radios, and the two men advanced towards the base.

Coulson's voice whined in their ears: _"Captain, Holmes. Come in. Do you read me? Over."_

Captain grabbed his radio. "Loud and clear, sir."

"_Are you at the door yet?"_

"Yeah – there's about ten locks on it."

"_You know what to do." _

"Yes, sir."

Captain grinned and kicked the door in. John whistled, impressed, and the two of them charged down the corridor, using their torches to see into the rooms.

Suddenly, five armed guards leapt out at the men. John was swift to act – he shot one in the face and kicked another in the chest, spinning round to shoot his leg and punch him backwards. Captain blocked a punch from another guard and elbowed his nose, breaking it, and pushed him into the fourth guard. They toppled backwards, scrambling back onto their feet. Captain and John kept shooting until all five fell down, dead. Captain glanced at John.

"Are you alright?"

John looked at his hand – perfectly steady. "I'm fine. Let's go."

* * *

Hamish wrestled with his ropes, tugging at them uselessly. Peter glared at him.

"Stop struggling!" he snapped. "You'll only make this worse for yourself."

"Now, now, Peter." Moriarty's gleeful voice floated over from the other side of the base. "Be nice."

Peter flashed Hamish another warning look before turning to Sherlock, who was strapped up next to his son. He looked almost defeated – but Jim knew Sherlock too well to think he had really given up.

"Where's John?" Peter grinned cruelly.

A shudder went through Sherlock's spine, and Hamish gritted his teeth against his retort. Peter laughed.

"Look at you two! So helpless. No soldier and no father. How does it feel? How does it feel to be so completely alone?"

Hamish glanced up and smiled. "Oh, we're not alone, Peter."

"Hm?" Peter chuckled. "How so?"

"We've got our family."

"MR MORIARTY!" a huge voice pierced the air, stunning Peter. "LOKI! RELEASE THE PRISONERS OR WE WILL TAKE THEM BY FORCE!"

Peter spun round, trying to see the source of the voice. Hamish grinned. Good old Fury.

* * *

Captain and John looked up from their current fight when the voice sounded over the base. John kicked a guard in the face and grinned at Captain, who nodded and sprinted for the door. They both tumbled into the main building, keeping to the walls to avoid being noticed. John gazed around. Moriarty was frantically typing code into a computer, trying to cut out the voice and hide his location; Loki was arguing with a terrified minion; and Hamish and Sherlock were tied up near the side, glancing around. John caught Sherlock's eye, and the relief was plain and painful on the taller man's face. Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past John's head, narrowly missing his ear, and Captain tackled John to the ground to avoid a barrage of bullets. Moriarty and Loki looked up to see Moran shooting at John and Captain. Their eyes widened.

"Seb, stop!" Moriarty held up a hand. The barrage stopped. Jim grinned his cat's smile. "Well, well, Doctor Watson. Always a pleasure."

"It's Doctor Holmes now, thanks." John stood up, his eyes ablaze.

"Oh, silly me." Moriarty sighed. "I always-"

"Sorry, how long is this going to go on?" Loki frowned. "I've had enough of monologues."

"Right. Yes." Moriarty nodded. "Kill them, Seb."

The bullets started again. Captain pulled John towards Sherlock and Hamish, guarding against the bullets with his round shield. Under the pressure of the rifle and the glares and jeers of the villains, John and Captain managed to run to the black-haired duo. John enveloped Hamish in his arms, sobbing quietly.

"I thought I lost you!" he whispered.

The door flew open with the blast of a grenade; great orange flames licked up the side of the base, and they could hear a huge war from outside – the SHIELD agents had started to invade the base, throwing grenades and missiles into the fray. Moriarty's army fought back, blasting the helicopters and Avengers Airbase with their tanks. The soldiers fought hand-to-hand with the agents, and the screams and cries of the wounded hit them hard.

"No time, Holmes!" Captain yelled. "Let's go!"

John nodded and stood up, ripping the ropes apart with his army knife. Sherlock and Hamish broke free, and the four of them started to advance towards the exit.

"You will not escape!" Loki roared.

Loki started to run towards the prisoners, but just then Hawkeye swung into the base, shooting a bomb-arrow at the computers – the systems exploded, and Moriarty and Loki were shoved backwards, toppling over Loki's chair-throne-thing. Hawkeye grinned, but he was caught on the leg by a rifle bullet. He growled and launched himself towards Moran, who discarded his rifle and pulled out his sword.

"Woah." Hawkeye blinked. "You use a sword?"

Moran grinned. "Oh, Legolas. You should see my son."

He swung at the archer, almost contacting Hawkeye's bow. He threw the thing onto the floor, taking out his long knife. Hawkeye grinned and stabbed at Moran; the Tiger parred his blows with his sword, and soon the two of them were fighting in the canopy, slashing and cutting at each other with intense sniper skill.

Meanwhile, Black Widow and Thor fought outside. Thor summoned a great lightning bolt with his hammer, felling many of Moriarty's soldiers. Hulk had broken free, but this was not the rage monster Black Widow was scared of – Bruce had allowed him out, and Hulk was ready and willing to help SHIELD. He lumbered towards the tanks, crushing them and the people inside. He picked one up and threw it at one of Moriarty's helicopters, creating a huge explosion and making the flying machine fall down onto one of the barracks. Hulk snorted, pleased with himself.

Captain America, John, Sherlock and Hamish ran quickly to the exit, Captain's shield protecting them from the blasts.

"Not so fast."

They turned round to see Peter Parker, holding his gun in shaking hands. Captain gasped.

"Peter! Oh, Peter!" Captain grinned cheekily. "You are so grounded."

"Shut it, Capsicle." Peter snapped. "You know what? This is all your fault. You sent me to that stupid boarding school. You didn't want me on the Avengers. And now I've disowned you. I've found something better. This war is _all your fault_."

"No, Peter." Hamish stepped forwards. "It's Loki's, and Moriarty's. They wanted revenge, and they used you to get it. But just think, Peter. You're not one of them. You're one of us. Please, Peter, just think."

Peter frowned. "Why the Hell should I listen to you?"

"Because you're my best friend, Peter. I want to help you. And... I hope to God you won't remember me saying this, but... I love you." Hamish smiled.

Peter's jaw dropped, and John and Sherlock grinned at each other. Captain smiled expectantly at his son, hoping that Hamish's words would-

"So what?" Peter snapped. He raised his gun, about to shoot, when-

CLANG!

Peter spun round, the gun knocked out of his hands. Deadpool stood behind him, swords at the ready, mask pulled down.

"Don't hurt them, Peter." he called. "Fight me instead."

Deadpool tossed Peter a sword and crouched into a fighting stance. Peter did the same, pulling his mask down to become Spidey. Deadpool motioned at the parents, and they quickly ran outside, Hamish watching as Spiderman and Deadpool began their fight.


	21. Rescue

**Note: **I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDAAATE! Ugh it took me ages to make the characters cooperate and then I had other stuff to do like real life and homework and ugh. Please please please review – every review means a lot to me, so please just take two minutes to type out a review. Thank you for sticking with me!

Chapter 21 – Rescue

The battle was almost won; dawn was breaking on the horizon, with tiny streaks of red tinting the sky like blood. Hulk stomped on the front of a tank, using it to crush two soldiers beneath the track tyres; Black Widow swung from one enemy to another, slitting one throat and shooting another. Thor sent shock-waves through the barracks, flushing out the remaining members of Moriarty's army. The SHIELD agents scrambled back to their trucks and vans – the battlefield was flaming, the grass rucked up to reveal dark brown dirt, with corpses littering the floor and seeping blood into the ground. Widow and Hulk glanced at each other over their latest kills – they nodded at each other, and Thor walked over to them, his hammer slung casually over his shoulder. They smiled.

A few minutes later, Captain America, Sherlock Holmes, John Holmes and Hamish ran out of the base and stopped in front of the group, flushed and breathing heavily.

"Peter is still inside." Captain growled. "I'm going back."

"No." Sherlock grabbed Captain's arm. "Loki and Moriarty are probably conscious now – you wouldn't get out of there alive." he paused. "Let me go."

Hamish and John yelped in unison: "What?!"

"I've faced Moriarty before." Sherlock reminded them grimly.

"Don't you dare, Holmes." Widow glared at him. "If anyone goes, it'll be me."

Hulk roared, annoyed at being ignored for the mission. Thor crossed his arms. "I shall save the boy. I care not about myself – young Peter must be protected at all costs."

Everyone kept bickering; John and Hamish wouldn't let Sherlock go, but everyone volunteered for the job. Above the argument, the SHIELD helicopters took off, the jeeps and vans speeding out of the base. The gang were left alone among the wreckage of the fight. Coulson watched from his lone vantage point as the group argued; he'd refused to go with the rest of his team. He wouldn't abandon his friends that easily – but damn! He gritted his teeth – just make a decision! But then his radio screeched, and a loud, crackly rendition of AC/DC's "Spellbound" played through the speakers.

"Hey, Phil." Iron Man grinned, hovering unsteadily into Coulson's line of vision. "Did you miss me?"

Coulson was tempted to shoot the idiot. "I thought you were dead!"

Iron Man laughed. "You should know by now, Coulson! You can't kill a man with no heart!"

Iron Man zoomed off towards the base. Coulson smiled. This here, right now – this was proof that Tony Stark had a heart. Iron Man flew over the bickering group, stunning them enough to shut them up, and into the base, landing quietly on his metal feet. The music shut off, leaving the battlefield eerily silent...

* * *

"We don't have to do this, Peter!"

Spiderman growled, clashing his sword against Deadpool's. "Yes we do!"

Deadpool stepped to the side, crouching into a defensive position. "Why are we fighting? We used to be friends!"

Spiderman lunged for the boy, but Deadpool saw it coming and side-stepped again, making Spiderman fall onto the floor. Wade ripped off his mask, shook out his blond hair, and put one leg over Spidey so he was standing over him. He held out his hand.

"Peter. Come with me. Stop the fighting. This isn't you!"

Spidey gazed up at Wade, still clutching his sword. He glanced at it – Wade noticed, and kicked Spidey's sword over to the other side of the base. Spidey gritted his teeth.

"You're jealous!" he shouted. "You're just fucking jealous! Jim and Seb like me more than they like you – they treat me right! They don't shove me to the side! Think about it, Wade! Think about how many times you've been mistreated and discarded! How many plans, how many missions have you actually been on?"

Wade's eyes widened. His breath hitched in his throat; it was hard to breathe – suddenly, his suit was too tight, his eyes too blurry to see. Spiderman took advantage of this – he kicked up, striking Wade's crotch with his foot. The blond fell down, and Spiderman scrambled to get his sword; but not before Wade grabbed Spidey's leg, making him fall and hit his head on the floor. His eyes fluttered closed.

Wade stood up, breathing heavily. Suddenly, a slow, ominous chuckle sounded from the corner of the base; Wade spun round to see Moriarty and Loki, both sporting bruises and cuts from their fall, grinning at him.

"Dad!" Wade sighed happily. He rushed towards Jim, catching his Dad in a hug. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let Peter-"

"It's alright, Wade." Jim muttered into his son's hair, patting his back awkwardly. "It's okay."

Loki stood by, watching the bright reunion. Meanwhile, up above them, Hawkeye and Moran were exhausted in the canopy, gashes lining their faces and arms. Moran took a weak stab at Hawkeye.

"Neither of us can win." Hawkeye growled. "Give up."

"Never." Moran breathed. "I've fought tigers bigger and stronger than you."

"Oh yeah? I've fought aliens."

"Aliens?" Moran huffed a laugh. "With a bow and arrow?"

Hawkeye grinned. "I'm better than you give me credit for." he paused for a moment. "Y'know, if you weren't evil, you'd be a great addition to the Avengers."

Moran smiled back. "And if you weren't so addicted to leather, you'd be a good marksman."

Hawkeye growled, but after a moment he and Moran laughed together. They nodded at each other and parted ways; Hawkeye scrambling out into the open with his bow, Moran grabbing his gun and jumping down into the middle of the base to join his family. Moriarty and Wade separated, and everyone remaining in the base turned to the unconscious Spidey.

"So what do we do now?" Jim mused.

Loki stepped towards Spidey, holding his boot above the boy's head. "I say we squash him, like a real spider!"

"Try that and you're dead!" a loud voice called.

Everyone turned round – Iron Man stood in the entrance to the base, holding out his arm and aiming his machine guns at Loki's smug face. Moriarty grinned.

"Hey Tin Man! You're not dead, I see."

"Oh, so it was you who flirted with me!" Iron Man chuckled. "You smooth talker, you."

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Moran might have punched Jim right there. But as it was, he simply glared at the Tin Man, his hand hovering towards his gun.

"Have you come to rescue your son?" Loki sneered.

"Yeah, actually." Iron Man walked forward slowly. "Take your shoe off him and let him go."

Loki grinned. He reached down and plucked Spidey off the floor, ripping the mask off Peter's face. He held out the limp body of the boy. "He's all yours."

Iron Man frowned. "What?"

"He's under Loki's spell!" Wade yelled. Moran stepped in front of his son, silencing him with a glare.

Iron Man bristled. He stormed forward and grabbed Peter, hugging him close to his metal chest. Peter shifted – Iron Man frowned, holding him out... and Peter opened his eyes, just a little, to let his Dad see the natural chocolate brown irises under his lids. He winked subtly, and went limp again. Iron Man beamed happily under his helmet.

"Wait!" Moriarty was a dark shade of purple. "I am not letting you leave here!"

Loki grabbed Iron Man's arm, but the metal man just rolled his eyes and zoomed into the air, shaking the God off his person. "Sorry fellas, gotta dash. Busy busy!"

He flew out of the base, saluting Wade as he went – the blond smiled sadly back while his Dads and Loki ran after the metal man. Tony turned round in the air outside to face the dome, and, hitching Peter onto his back, aimed and fired a small rocket at the entrance. The tiny rocket exploded, making the whole dome shiver and collapse, kicking up dust and dirt as it fell slowly to the ground.


	22. Help Comes From Unlikely Places

**Note: IT'S BACK! FINALLY! Please please leave a review – you know they mean a lot to me!**

Chapter 22 – Help Comes From Unlikely Places

Captain America watched the base fall to the ground with a look of horror on his face. He lunged forward desperately. "TONY!"

Sherlock grabbed his arm, pulling the man back. "Don't! It's too late!"

The group all watched with stone-like faces as the rubble came down. A huge cloud of dust rose into the air, undulating and swirling as it dissipated into the light dawn sky. Hamish hid his face in his Dad's chest, squeezing his eyes shut to trap the tears inside. What if Peter hadn't made it out? What about Wade, the boy that had saved them all? Hamish didn't expect the feeling of gratitude that spread through his heart – Wade was more compassionate than anyone had given him credit for. He was kind, unlike his Dad. Hamish almost felt sorry for him. Then Peter's face flashed across his mind, and Hamish sniffed, letting his tears fall freely.

"It's alright, Hamish." John murmured. He patted Hamish's back, half-closing his eyes and swaying slightly. "It's over."

"Not yet." Captain America whispered desperately. "Please, not yet. They're not- they haven't-"

"You think you're the only one who's lost someone?" Black Widow snapped, clenching her fists. "Barton's not out yet either. So-"

"NATASHA!"

Everyone looked round – Hawkeye and Peter, carrying Iron Man between them, trudged through the ruined base and towards the group, their faces blackened with soot, their clothes ripped and bloody. They lay the unconscious man onto the ground, then pitched forward, landing on their knees and panting heavily. Widow let out a cry, rushing towards the men. She pulled Hawkeye aside, yelling at him for being so stupid. Hawkeye just smiled, probably just grateful to have met a fellow sniper (and to be alive, of course). Captain ran to Peter, looking into his eyes.

"Are you... _you _again?" he whispered.

"Yeah." Peter sniffed. He stood up shakily and pulled his Dad into a tight hug, clutching at his back as if he never wanted to let go. "I'm sorry, Dad. God... I'm so so sorry." he put his face to Captain's shoulder, letting tears stain his suit.

Captain smiled, holding back his own tears. "I'm just glad you're back, Pete. I love you."

"I love you too." Peter smiled.

Captain stepped back, then knelt down beside his husband, ripping off the mask. Tony's face was grey, his jaw slack – he looked... Captain gulped. He traced the black arc reactor on Tony's chest softly, closing his eyes.

"He'll be alright, Dad."

Captain nodded. "Yeah, of course. He's always alright." he looked up at Peter, his eyes seeming dead. "Won't he?"

"He will be. I promise.." Peter nodded. Captain nodded, flicking his eyes back to Tony. Peter turned to Hamish, who was staring at the suited boy in disbelief. Peter smiled. "Hey, Hamish."

"Bastard." Hamish said bluntly.

"Don't swear, Hamish!" John frowned.

The boy ignored him, stepping towards Peter with a shocked expression. "I thought you were dead! Gwen thought you were dead! Wade- we- we all-" Hamish's voice cracked.

"Yeah..." Peter winced. "Sorry about that."

"You should be!" Hamish lunged forward, capturing Peter into a hug. John and Sherlock smiled, taking each other's hands. Thor, Hulk and Coulson shuffled their feet uncomfortably, wondering when the reunion would stop. Hamish nuzzled Peter's shoulder. "You – you had me worried there, Pete!"

Peter patted Hamish's back gently. "I know. Sorry, again."

Hamish looked up into Peter's brown eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah, I do." Peter grinned. "Especially the bit where you said you loved me."

Hamish froze, then let go of his friend and walked back to his parents, ignoring Peter's grin. "Let's go home."

"Agreed." they all nodded.

* * *

The sky was blue and clear as the group drove back to Holmes Mansion. Captain and Hawkeye helped Iron Man into the building, setting him down on the sofa, and Steve refused to leave his husband's side for the second time that night. John sympathised with the poor man – it's not easy, thinking your husband is dead. He looked in relief at his Sherlock, who just smiled and went to his room, falling asleep instantly. The remaining Avengers left the Mansion, shaking hands and parting ways. Coulson dithered for a moment, wondering if he should stay and help Tony and Steve, but Mycroft caught him in a conversation about suits and lead him to his private car, taking him back to the airport. The Mansion was quiet again, peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever.

John occupied himself making a cup of tea in the kitchen. It was a relatively normal task, and he sighed happily when he finished, taking a long sip of the drink. Hamish wandered into the kitchen, dragging his feet. John smiled. "Hey, you. What's up?"

Hamish sighed. He stroked his broken arm's sling as he talked, staring at the floor. "Gwen's upstairs with Peter, talking. They didn't want me there with them."

"And you're worried about what they're saying?"

"Yes."

John nodded. He sat on the kitchen counter, patting the space next to him. Hamish joined him, and John put an arm around his son's shoulders, hugging him close. "You shouldn't worry, Hamish. It's between Peter and Gwen."

"I know." Hamish murmured. "It's just... you know that I like Peter, right? And Gwen knows too, and Peter knows as well... and I'm scared, Dad. I'm really, properly scared."

John licked his lips. He was silent for a moment before he said: "I'm scared too. I'm always scared. I was scared when your Father... when he _fell._" John took a deep breath, recollecting his thoughts. "I was scared when I asked him out for the first time, scared when I said 'I do' at the alter. And I was scared out of my mind when I thought I'd lost you." John stared at Hamish. "When you went missing yesterday, I was... terrified. Absolutely terrified. But we got you back, and you're alright now. The thing is, Hamish, is it's okay to be scared. We're all scared at some time or another, and it's _okay. _Peter knows you like him – so what? The worst he could do is say that you're not his friend any more, and really, he's hardly likely to do that. Seriously, Hamish, it's okay." John smiled kindly.

Hamish nodded slowly. "Thanks, Dad."

"No problem. Would you like some tea?"

Hamish smiled. "No thanks. I'm going to bed."

John nodded. Hamish slipped off the counter and walked quickly to his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He flopped onto his bed. A few hours ago, he'd thought he was going to die. He thought his family would be slaughtered, his friends would be killed... but now they were safe, and Hamish was immensely grateful for that. He smiled, then closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly.


End file.
